The Ways Home
by Tidia
Summary: Different stories, mostly one-shots of d'Artagnan hurt and comfort.
1. First Way Home

Title: The Ways to Home

By: tidia

Disclaimer: BBC owns the characterizations they have created of the Musketeers.

Spoilers: Yes 1.10

All mistakes my own- I did not read this over before I posted.

Notes: Why am I writing this much? Real life. Anyway, I believe I saw a prompt where d'Artagnan was hurt more by Athos than he let on so that is the first part and then I will explain the second part...

* * *

The First Way Home

The bullet cut through his side and no amount of preparation prepared him for the burning sensation that took his breath away or the force that made him stumble back. Thankfully, he was eased to the ground. Aramis, Porthos and Treville were with him, and he tried to keep his eyes open, but the shock and pain were making him feel spent.

In theory it had been a good plan. He was rethinking the musket fire.

When next he awoke he was in Milady's care with an ache that made him feel every stitch that had been placed. He had pushed beyond the pain though to complete the mission, no time to recover in order to save Constance.

As he walked back from the Bonacieux residence to the garrison every step was filled with pain. His heartbeat echoed in his side. He entered the garrison, not bothering to check on his friends who had a report to give to Treville, then were heading to a tavern.

D'Artagnan shut the door to his room, took off his boots and lay on top of the bed. He felt hot and cold, sad and angry all at once. He had lost Constance.

It was a fitful sleep. Turning in his sleep made his side flare in spiky pain that left his gasping, but at least woke him from his nightmares. All of them dying, Constance's throat being cut. He guess he should have been satisfied with them all being alive.

He lay in bed taking slow breaths to help the pain subside. It was enough to send him into a doze to wake up for the next day.

"We are to go to the palace," Athos reported to him before the roll.

"Are you well?"Aramis frowned in his scrutiny.

D'Artagnan wiped a hand down his face. "Fine."

Porthos put an arm around d'Artagnan's shoulder. "And Constance?"

"Her husband attempted suicide and out of loyalty she has decided to remain with him." He swallowed, telling them made it all too real.

He had stunned his friends at the unexpected turn of events. They had thought they would reconcile and she would give up her husband. He had thought the same.

"I am sorry." Athos nodded.

There was no time for any further discussion, and neither was there much to say about the matter as they witnessed the news of the queen. They waited for Aramis to return to them, d'Artagnan shifting on his horse as his side made itself known. Something passed between Aramis and Athos, but d'Artagnan allowed the moment to pass, too miserable as they continued to the garrison with a day's activities planned. D'Artagnan was looking forward to the evening's rest, which may have distracted as he dismounted his horse to find his knees buckling.

He caught himself on the saddle, but his strength was waning and he was going to crumple until Porthos grabbed him from behind, pulling on his injury causing him to gasp in the unexpected onslaught.

"d'Artagnan!" Porthos yelled into his ear, but it brought the others. "He was going to collapse."

"Where are you hurt?" Aramis ghosted his hands over d'Artagnan's uniform.

The young musketeer shook his head. It was the wound that Athos's had given him, and the older man would find it difficult that it was giving his protégé pain. "I was just caught off guard-" He tried to shake off Porthos's grip.

But Athos was too quick in his determination. "Check his side, Aramis. Where I shot him."

Aramis nodded, but showed sympathy that he did view the wound in the stable. "Upstairs."

It was a slow, halting trip up the flight of stairs to Aramis's room, but once settled on the bed all d'Artagnan wanted to do was sleep. His whole body ached, but he was forced to strip off his shirt which was a struggle as his arms filled with lethargy and then he was only limited to using one arm as lifting the other one caused him to fold in on himself.

Athos helped sort him out, although he did not meet d'Artagnan's eyes.

"Some of the stitching has ripped and it's infected." Aramis's hand went to his forehead. "You're fevered. Why didn't you say something?"

He closed his eyes to try to distance himself from the pain Aramis was causing as he probed the wound and his headache. "I did not notice and we've been busy with setting a trap, saving Constance. . ." he did not mention his broken heart.

"Drink this." Athos lifted his head and brought a cup to his lips of cognac. After he had savored the liquor, Athos placed his head gently on the pillow. "Rest."

"I am going to pick out the stitches," Aramis stated.

D'Artagnan drifted in a haze. He didn't know if he was awake or not, but he was warm, too warm and uncomfortable.

* * *

Athos was suffering along with his young brother with a high fever that was relentless. Aramis had resorted to attaching a dozen leeches near the wound. "Why is he so grave?"

Aramis shook his head. "I do not know." He removed the leeches, they had left their mark behind. Aramis licked his lips. "I requested a priest, Athos."

Athos stood up and Porthos got between the two men as Athos announced, "I will not allow it." Athos had caused the death of his friend. What was worse for a moment when his wife was in his arms, and he was pointing the musket at d'Artagnan he felt anger. He was angry at all the men who slept with his wife and wanted to restore his honor as the cuckold husband.

Aramis bent down to place his hand on d'Artagnan's forehead and the Gascon leaned into it. "You cannot deny it. He's a Catholic. It's his soul."

"Aramis, you're saying that all is lost." There was an emptiness in him that no amount of wine would fill if d'Artagnan died by his hand.

"No, I'm not." Aramis shook his head.

"Last Rites. . ." Athos started.

Aramis put a hand on Athos's shoulder- it was an offer of comfort. "Think of it as a blessing."

"We could all use it," Porthos commented, having been silent and stepping aside when he saw Athos calm. He took a seat by the edge of d'Artagnan's bed. "Just make him happy. d'Artagnan's going to be fine."

"Because of your close relationship with God?" Aramis asked, bemused for the first time in two days.

"Because I have faith." Porthos shrugged his shoulders.

They stood witness as the priest prayed and placed the oil on d'Artagnan. Porthos and Aramis left him alone, using they would bring some food upstairs. No one had an appetite.

"You foolish boy. This plan to put yourself in danger. And what about me? I shot you, d'Artagnan. I shot you and now you lay here." He gripped the boy's hand. "Do not do this to me. Do not."

He heard the sigh, and looked up to see that d'Artagnan's hair was drenched, and his face had lost the redness. Athos released the younger man's hand and brought a hand to feel the Gascon's forehead still marked by the sacred oil. It was cooler.

Athos choked back a sob, but couldn't stop the tears of relief. Porthos and Aramis returned and found him like this, rushing in believing the worse had happened.

Aramis frowned. "His fever broke." The frown morphed into a smile and pure glee. "His fever broke!"

"I told you he would be fine." Porthos clapped Athos on the shoulder.

They did not leave Aramis's room though, waiting for d'Artagnan to fully wake. Athos was dozing in the chair by the bed, immensely uncomfortable, but unable to resist the exhaustion. He felt a hand on his knee.

"Athos?"

It was enough to bring Athos fully awake and see that d'Artagnan had shifted and was trying to sit up. Athos braced him with an arm, then placed the pillows behind the Gascon. "I'm tired."

He looked wane, but lucid and blessedly cool. "Go back to sleep," he whispered not wanting to wake the others so he could have a moment with d'Artagnan.

"Are you well?"

Athos pursed his lips and then smiled. His wife was still alive, hopefully far from France. He thought that had brought him peace, but it was the realization that he had gained another brother in his heart that brought him solace. "I am now. I never met to gravely hurt you. I never meant any ill will towards you."

d'Artagnan frowned. Athos would always feel guilty for shooting d'Artagnan to see the scar, he had told the young man as much, but d'Artagnan said any mark he would bear as penance for foolishness. "I know there is no malice in your heart. I know." He blinked slowly, opened his eyes once more. "If the worse ever happens then it was an honorable death. Don't take that away from me." d'Artagnan closed his eyes and fell asleep.

"To honor." Athos could honor these men as they honored him with their stalwart friendship.


	2. Second Way Home

Title: The Ways to Home

By: tidia

Disclaimer: BBC owns the characterizations they have created of the Musketeers.

Spoilers: Yes 1.10

All mistakes my own- I did not read this over before I posted.

Notes: Okay, I am indulging myself on this one because I have read some fics where d'Artagnan is hurt and then there is no comfort so I am remedying that for myself and figured I would share. I really need to pick on Athos next.

* * *

The Second Way Home

It took five days for them to find d'Artagnan in a stank, basement room hanging from the ceiling with his arms raised up, feet not touching the ground. He had flinched, then squinted as he opened his eyes in the light.

Porthos cut him down, while Athos held him so he would not crumple to the ground, trying not to grip too hard to cause more pain as Athos had seen the blood on his protégé.

"Can you carry him? There is a cart outside." Aramis asked put his hand along the side of the Gascon's face. "We need to tend to him elsewhere."

The floor was dirt and the room cold. Athos nodded, and started out the door and up the stairs. The cart was waiting. Aramis took off his cloak, placed it in the card and Athos lowered d'Artagnan gently upon it.

Porthos came holding a light over them. D'Artagnan had been left in his smalls- clothes, boots, cloak and sword gone more than likely sold, though they did not ask the culprits, who had wanted revenge on the musketeers. They had asked them d'Artagnan's location before bringing an end to their lives.

"d'Artagnan?" Athos asked while Aramis did a cursory examination. "I should not have been surprised that you would find trouble as soon as you became a musketeer." He hoped that the younger man would answer, but saw that his eyes were closed whether in sleep, unconsciousness or avoidance.

"It's not a good way to break in the cuff," Porthos added. They had retrieved that from the wrongdoers.

"They sliced him with a blade and whipped his back. There are some bruises, too." Aramis sat back on his haunches in the cart.

"We killed them too quickly." Porthos growled.

"Let's get him back to the garrison." Aramis remained inside the cart to keep d'Artagnan steady.

They made quick work getting through the Paris streets and taking d'Artagnan inside to set him on Aramis's table.

"Do you want to call a physician?" Athos asked. He would follow whatever Aramis suggested in order to bring d'Artagnan back whole.

"Not yet," Aramis answered. "I do need water."

"Already on its way," Porthos had two buckets of water, one steaming and the other not. They had done this too many times not to know what was needed.

"Help me to wash him so I can better look at the wounds." They each grabbed a cloth, carefully using the hot water to unveil each mark.

"He's going to need your stitch work," Porthos commented.

When Athos went to turn d'Artagnan on his back, the touch to his shoulder had d'Artagnan moaning. Athos raked a hand through the Gascon's hair. "Shhh, it's okay. You're safe. You're with us."

d'Artagnan's eyes blinked open. He stared at them for a moment as if taking in that they were real. "Water?"

Athos and Porthos helped him to sit up slowly, which resulted in a gasp. Aramis brought the water to his lips. He took tentative sips.

"My arms hurt," he mumbled after Aramis took the water away.

"They had you hanging from your arms. There will be soreness," Aramis said. "We need to clean your back, then get you stitched up." In the sitting up position there were minute shakes in d'Artagnan's frame.

The Gascon nodded, and Aramis worked quickly while the other two held him up, settling him back down with relief. Aramis was threading his needle.

"How long?" d'Artagnan whispered, and they all wished he would now fall unconscious. Many of the wounds were bleeding, which meant there would be much stitching.

"Four days," Athos pulled up a chair. "We're sorry we did not find you sooner."

D'Artagnan hissed as Aramis made the first stitch. Porthos grabbed his ankle and Athos his hand, not to hold him, but to ground him.

"You should have seen when we found them. One pissed his pants out of fear, and all Athos said was hello. I kid you not, lad."

"That is because they detained d'Artagnan from practicing his sword work."

"Aramis was the one who first noticed you were missing."

"That is because when d'Artagnan is sent out on an errand he does so in half of the allotted time, making his fellow musketeers seem lazy."

"You do have a tendency to dawdle."

They continued with the distracting banter that was punctuated by a huff of laughter, a gasp or moan from d'Artagnan, but he refused to submit to his exhaustion.

Porthos looked over at Aramis, they had placed d'Artagnan uncomfortably on his side because he had protested laying on his stomach. "Lad, we will stay with you. This isn't a dream. You're here with us."

"I was in the dark," d'Artagnan started haltingly. "I'll believe you in the morning."

Stitched, cleaned and weary they brought d'Artagnan to his room and placed him in his bed. The looked out towards the window, waiting for the break of dawn and with that d'Artagnan went to sleep. "Thank you."

When he woke in the night after a full day of sleep, Porthos, Aramis and Athos were waiting for him with more candles than were usual in his room.


	3. Third Way Home

Title: Ways Home: The Scars of Belonging

See Part 1 for disclaimer and the rest

Notes: I did not think I would continue on with this, but so many people are following it that I am continuing. I am working on a few stories, and will post as I go as long as I know where the stories are going.

* * *

"Please cease your withering looks, d'Artagnan. They are ineffective," Athos said from atop his horse just a few strides ahead.

They had been sent on a mission to find a man that was spreading rumors and sedition, finding him with his family and not in hiding. d'Artagnan did not agree with the methods Athos had used to ensure the man's silence. "You humiliated that man in front of his family."

In front of his family Athos took the man to task with swords. With a thwack and a shove, Athos relentlessly set the man to the floor over twenty times with various cuts from his sword and bruises until finally the man begged for mercy. It was his family that bothered d'Artagnan, his wife and daughter crying and his son biting his lip as his father was abused, the beaten man could not meet their eyes.

"It was the king's business and I followed my orders." Athos's visage was focused ahead. "It is no more than you receive when we train."

d'Artagnan urged his horse forward to match Athos. "You seek to humiliate me?"

Athos turned and gave a measured, "No."

The younger man was appeased; feeling the simple answer from his mentor was enough. D'Artagnan never felt humiliated. Still, he was a musketeer and the other man had no such training. "You were arrogant."

"You're too soft hearted," Athos retorted. D'Artagnan could sense Athos's patience was waning. "What do you believe the Red Guards would have done? Cut out his tongue, burned down his home, tortured his children or wife?"

It was known the Red Guards were not as civil or honorable. They would have done worse.

Athos's face was grim. "I took an ounce of pride to stop him from spreading sedition, and I have to hope that is enough or else it will go worse for him."

It was true that if the man continued then he would be killed and Athos would be reprimanded for not handling the situation properly. "I understand."

Athos shifted in his saddle. "d'Artagnan, I hope that you never get blood on your hands, but in this business it is inevitable." Athos sped up again, putting some distance between them.

They remained silent as the maneuvered the streets of Paris towards the garrison.

"You have returned," Aramis greeted them as did Porthos.

Athos acted as usual and d'Artagnan followed his lead, learning that to be a good musketeer required him to be accustomed to much more than swordfight and gunplay.

(())

Leon Allaire was aware that Marie was the woman of a musketeer, but she kept glancing in his direction and her actions emboldened him. He placed his hands on her, kissed her, although she scrunched her face and tried to push him away.

He was holding her tight against him so she would stop her struggling. He did not notice the musketeers entering until he was physically pulled away from the lovely Marie and rendered unconscious by the butt of a musket.

When he awoke he was tied to a chair surrounded by three musketeers waiting for him to wake up. He got backhanded as soon as he opened his eyes.

"Red Guard scum. Marie is a Musketeer's woman."

Leon was struck again. He tried to make out their faces, but they were hidden under masks. "Release me!"

When the musketeers untied him he thought they were going to send him on his way. Instead they re-secured his arms behind him and brought him to a vat of water. They forced his head into the water, holding him down while he struggled.

They repeated the action again. When they allowed him up he was light headed and sputtering. He relished taking in a few wet breaths, coughing along with it. Leon did not know where they were, but a door opened to the room, momentarily illuminating an alley outside. "What is going on here?"

There was only one candle in the corner throwing shadows, but the new arrival was not wearing a mask and Leon was looking for a moment when he could make out the man.

"We are teaching this Red Guard fool that he should stay away from what belongs to the Musketeers." The musketeer forced Leon's head under the water, but this time it was for a short time, not enough to incite the Red Guard's panic.

Leon vowed he would not look at another woman for a year, at least any that were with the musketeer vermin.

"You're drowning him?" The unmasked musketeer asked.

"We are punishing him, getting justice. Are you helping your brothers? You can stand guard." One of the original three suggested.

There was a long pause, but Leon relished the break from being attacked. "I rather wish to be on my way while you go about your business."

The fourth man was detained by one of the masked men. "d'Artagnan, this remains amongst us."

Leon smiled and held onto that name. Someone would pay for this as soon as he was free he would go to the Cardinal for his revenge. The Cardinal said he would reward anyone who could show Musketeer treachery.

(())

D'Artagnan wiped a hand down his face as he closed the door, returning to the Paris streets, trying to erase what he had witnessed. It was happenchance that he walked in upon the musketeers, having heard an odd noise and deciding to investigate.

He did not think he would find Edmund, Arc and Bastian drowning a Red Guard. D'Artagnan had no love for the Cardinal's men, but at least there was honor in a swordfight or hand to hand combat. It was expected. Torture was used only to find information, and most of what d'Artagnan has witnessed were threats.

Lost in his thought, but aiming for a tavern, he found one and ordered a drink. He turned and saw Aramis in the corner, a woman draped on his lap. D'Artagnan caught his friend's eye before he approached.

The blonde woman had a revealing ample bosom, along with the confidence Aramis liked in women. Aramis nuzzled her neck. "My dear, can we have a moment?"

She laughed and graced d'Artagnan with a smile before removing herself from Aramis's legs. He gave her an affectionate swat, then directed his attention to d'Artagnan. "What's amiss?"

D'Artagnan drank his wine before answering as he searched for the words to use. He had made a promise to the others, but this was also a fellow musketeer. "I interrupted some other musketeers that were less than honorable in their actions."

Aramis studied him intensely for a moment as if he was reading d'Artagnan's soul. "Is this why there is a chill between you and Athos?"

He thought he had hid it better, and was not treating Athos any differently. Yet, that was not true if Aramis could see a difference.

Aramis looked down at his hands. "You know that there are times that there are orders that you must follow that may be distasteful."

D'Artagnan nodded, kicking himself for bringing up memories of Savoy that tortured his friend. Captain Treville had not been immune to the king's whims and need to save his orders to save the king's sister. D'Artagnan had not been placed in that position, but knew one day it would happen for him to live with the guilt. "It is hard to see the honor at times."

Aramis played with his hat which also rested on the table, avoiding d'Artagnan's eyes. "You are sitting in judgment. No one wants to be judged by the lofty eyes of another." He looked up with a smile. "Remember your brothers would die for you, defend you, and keep your secrets."

He had been a witness to their generosity and honor even as he had acted rash. He had tossed a dagger at Athos's back when they met. "A fair exchange." D'Artagnan raised his glass, emptying it.

Aramis gestured for the woman to return. She came with a tankard and another woman following her. "She bears gifts."

The pretty blonde sat next to d'Artagnan, placing a welcoming hand on his leg. Aramis set his conscience at ease, and d'Artagnan set out to enjoy himself to forget what he had seen earlier.

TBC


	4. Third Way Home Part B

Ways Home Part 3b

By: Tidia

Disclaimer: see part 1

Notes: Thank you so much for the reviews, following, favorites. I hope I have reached out to everyone who has reached out to me. I hope you continue to enjoy this story and there should be one more part. I am sure I have forgotten to thank someone, so please forgive me.

* * *

d'Artagnan was watching Porthos and Athos spar, taking in their different styles and seeking their weaknesses until the grumbling in the yard caught his attention as ten Red Guards entered the garrison yard. Two came towards him; he stood to greet them with his hand resting on his sword as Aramis came shoulder to shoulder with him.

"You are under arrest."

"For what?" d'Artagnan looked at his friends in confusion.

"For the murder of Leon Allaire. He was one of us."

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I don't know him."

Treville came down the stairs, accepting the papers he was handed with the Cardinal's seal. "Go with them, d'Artagnan until we sort this out."

They watched as d'Artagnan was led out of the garrison, then followed Treville to his office. Treville passed the papers to Athos. "The dead guard said d'Artagnan's name on his deathbed."

"That is the only evidence against him?" Athos passed the paper to Porthos.

"Is it at all possible that d'Artagnan could have been involved?" Treville asked. "I know you men and the Red Guards. . ."

Aramis cleared his throat. "He was with me late into the evening with two fine women."

Porthos patted Aramis on the back. "Will that be enough to release him?"

Treville did not have a chance to answer the question before three other musketeers entered. Athos nodded at Edmund ,Arc, and Bastian.

"Why are you interrupting?" Treville scolded.

"We just learned that d'Artagnan was taken to the Chatelet for the death of Leon Allaire. When we left him he was very much alive." Edmund explained, glancing at his two friends for confirmation.

"I do not understand." Treville sat back in his chair. "What have you to do with this matter?"

"This happened two nights ago?" Aramis asked, receiving a frown in response from Athos who wanted more information.

"Yes," Bastian stepped forward. "Leon had taken liberties with my woman and we sought to make sure it did not happen again. On my honor we punished him and sent him on his way."

"And d'Artagnan's involvement?" Athos asked. "Was he there as an accomplice?"

Edmund sighed. "He found us, but wanted no part of it, but I may have accidently used his name when I asked for his discretion."

"You should have killed Allaire or done nothing." Athos growled, disgusted in the men before him and finding it difficult for the insult to pass. "d'Artagnan will not pay the price for this."

"This isn't helping d'Artagnan. I'm thinking Leon probably went to a tavern to lick his wounds," Porthos supplied. "It's what a stupid Red Guard would do."

"We need to find out what happened to him, and in the meantime you three will go with me to the palace to secure d'Artagnan's release." Treville gestured to Edmund, Arc and Bastien.

"We apologize." They bowed to Athos, Porthos and Aramis. It was well known in the garrison that d'Artagnan was under their protection and tutelage. Edmund continued, "We will accept any punishment, but it is not for d'Artagnan to bear. He was not involved and tried to dissuade us from our endeavors."

Athos could do no more; instead they had to find out how Leon died. They started in the area that they were told he was last seen alive, going to the taverns in the area until someone recognized the description of Leon.

"He was here, boasting about how the Musketeers weren't brave enough to kill him." The barkeep said as he served a midday patron.

It was slow going to find a person that last saw Leon alive, but Aramis's ways with women along with Porthos's direct nature led to the Cardinal's witness.

A small man wearing a stocking hat seemed happy enough to tell them his story as he picked at his face. "Came out of there not able to put one foot in front of the other, then went up those stairs and fell."

The man pointed to stairs that led to another tavern a few doors away.

"He fell?" Aramis pressed and received an enthusiastic nod.

"There was lots of blood, and I thought if I brought him back to the Red Guards that I would get a reward. Kept saying d'Artagnan, d'Artagnan. Didn't get too far before he stopped mumbling and died." The man shrugged his shoulders as if drunken deaths were a common occurrence.

Porthos jingled his money pouch. "Did the Cardinal's men pay you?"

"Some, but it should have been more." The witness was thankfully an opportunist.

Athos felt some relief that at least they could prove that d'Artagnan did not cause Leon's death. He hoped that Treville would be able to have the other charges shifted to the rightful musketeers. "We need you to come with us and promise you a reward, too."

((()))

D'Artagnan calmed when he was taken to the palace to appear before the King and saw Treville, Athos, Aramis and Porthos. He was surprised to see Edmund, Arc and Bastian, but knew that meant that the truth was going to be revealed. His brothers would not fail him.

His time at the Chatelet had been less than pleasant. He was glad he would not be spending the night under the watchful eyes of the Red Guards looking for revenge for the death of their comrade.

d'Artagnan sported bruises on his torso, hidden by his clothes as the guards were careful not to have any outward signs show on his face. He shifted uncomfortably as he heard Treville give his report about the witness seeing Leon alive.

"It was an accident with d'Artagnan not involved, Your Majesty," Treville concluded. "d'Artagnan should be set free."

The Cardinal's eyes shined. He wanted revenge and his opportunity to strike was at hand. "It may have been an accident, but you heard that musketeers precipitated violence against one of my guardsmen."

"The matter was one involving a woman." Treville gestured for Edmund, Bastian and Arc to step forward in their musketeer finery. "These three accept blame, while d'Artagnan is blameless. They are willing to be punished as your majesty sees fit."

The Cardinal did not allow the king to answer. Edmund, Bastian and Arc were not the three musketeers he wanted to blame. "Leon Allaire did not name them. He only named d'Artagnan so he should be punished."

Treville gave a slight shake of his head. "Cardinal, you have heard that d'Artagnan is innocent and your guardsman was addled by drink."

"The name given was d'Artagnan," the Cardinal repeated. "How do I know that these men are not embracing all for one and one for all?" He made it sound like a curse, not the words that stirred the hearts of the Musketeers. "The blame belongs and remains with d'Artagnan."

D'Artagnan could tell the king was bored with these events. "Very well, Cardinal what is your request?"

The Cardinal seemed to ponder for a moment before answering, "One hundred lashes. It was a most egregious crime." The audience gasped in response while d'Artagnan tried to school his own expression.

Treville raised his voice. "Sire, the Red Guard died not as a result of their actions, but his own. This is too much."

"Cardinal, this is one of my most recent Musketeers…" The king prompted.

"I will accept forty lashes as an example that there should be no further fighting between those that defend France."

"Forty lashes it is to be carried out tomorrow. D'Artagnan is freed from the charge of murder," the king announced.

D'Artagnan was in shock with a silence that enveloped him. He thought he bowed, but he heard Treville's answer as if it were in the distance.

"Very well. Thank you for your mercy, Your Highness."

((()))

The Red Guards took off the chains once the royal couple left the room. The Cardinal gave Treville a smug smile and ignored the others as he swept through, his black cape fluttering sharp like a wing.

D'Artagnan remained rooted in place, confused on how to take a step and to where. Athos, Porthos and Aramis came to his side as a presence, but did not speak. They were waiting for him.

Edmund, Arc and Bastian bowed to him. Bastian, with his hair tied back, hat removed from his head spoke, "d'Artagnan, we are sorry and ask for your forgiveness."

D'Artagnan shook his head. He could not face the three musketeers that caused him to be placed in the crossfire of a whip. He turned to face Athos. "If you tell me that they are my brothers, and that I have to forgive them, then I will not be able to control myself because I would be glad to have their blood on my hands."

"No," Athos said.

Porthos put his arms out wide to push the three troublemakers away from d'Artagnan. They knew enough to walk away. Athos, Aramis and Porthos waited until the other three had left the room before following behind them to go to the garrison.

They were almost outside when the Queen's maid detained them. "The Queen requests the company of d'Artagnan. She has said his friends may join him."

They were directed to an antechamber of the throne room. There the Queen was seated, a hand rested on her growing stomach. She was given more power over her husband with her pregnancy. The King would defer to her or ask her opinion with a glowing smile.

They bowed in her presence. Her ladies in waiting stood behind her.

She addressed d'Artagnan. "I understand that your lands were destroyed." D'Artagnan nodded. "Those shall be restored to you free from taxes while you serve the King. You will be allowed to collect your rents."

"Thank you Your Majesty." He bowed again at the unexpected news. Lupiac was a sore in his heart as he thought about his home being a burned out shell.

The Queen was quiet for a moment seeking words that would not give away the truth. "I wish there was more in regards to your punishment that I could change. The Cardinal sees only one direction. You must know the King values your loyalty, appreciates your service, and those of the other musketeers in defending him."

"Thank you, Your Majesty for your kindness." Aramis said, his head still up, never fully gesticulating.

They were outside when they were allowed to speak freely. Aramis mounted his horse. "The Cardinal gets his revenge for our actions."

"He is not one to be contrite and humble," Athos added.

A wave of anger rose up in d'Artagnan. These men would not be affected; he was the one that would fill the sting of a whip against his skin. "Flogging. It's humiliating, but it's only some of my pride. Isn't that right, Athos?"

Athos did not reply, instead he kept his horse still.

D'Artagnan continued spewing, unable to control his tongue. "Don't get involved, don't judge and trust my brothers. . ."

"That sounds like Aramis," Porthos commented, but a glance from d'Artagnan had him frowning. "I don't know if I like him angry at me."

It was enough that d'Artagnan came to his senses. The anger was displaced. "That was poor of me." He patted his horse to calm his discomfort.

"No need for apologies," Aramis answered. "Shall we return to the garrison or to a tavern? I believe that Treville would understand under the circumstances the need for the tavern."

"I would like to avoid them setting up the staging," Aramis added, his horse stepping forward, but then had the good sense to bow his head in apology of his callousness.

"First round is on you," Porthos said, reaching over to give d'Artagnan a pat on the back. "We'll get you drunk enough to feel nothing."

(())

There was not enough wine because the next morning d'Artagnan awoke to see his friends were in his room also asleep. He stood up, attempting to be quiet to look out the window. He had seen it when they had stumbled into the garrison, the place where he would be whipped. The others tried to distract him, Porthos having to physically pull him away and push him up the stairs to his room.

"Do you wish for food or drink?" Athos asked. The others were stirring behind him so he drew himself away from the window.

His stomach was already churning with nausea. "I do not believe I can eat."

Porthos handed him a half empty bottle that was near his makeshift bed. "Drink."

"Better to be flogged in a stupor." Aramis stretched like a cat as he awoke, then patted down his hair.

"Is this advice from personal experience?" d'Artagnan jested, but it had more bite than he intended. He returned to sitting on his bed to slip on his boots not recalling taking them off before going to bed, which meant one of the other man had done it. They were watching over him. He jumped at the soft knock at the door, but did not make a move to answer it.

Porthos opened the door in a huff of annoyance at the disturbance. There was no conversation, and he closed the door. "Edmund, Arc and Bastian want to talk to you. I can get rid of them for you."

Although it was tempting to have Porthos take a pound of their flesh, d'Artagnan had been told that the rest of the garrison was providing them no quarter. The Gascon glanced to Athos to realize the charade of avoidance would not be wise. "Allow them in."

Porthos opened the door, but the three musketeers only stepped in past the threshold. The door remained ajar. "We've told Treville that we wished to be flogged beside you, but he said that it would be your decision."

D'Artagnan rubbed a hand down his face, then turned to Porthos, Aramis and Athos for assistance. Athos was distant as if was removing himself from the matter, Aramis seemed to be considering it while Porthos was agreeing with the suggestion.

"No. I do not want the Cardinal to have that much satisfaction." The Red Guards would be filing in shortly for the spectacle. Athos gave him a pat on the back.

The three musketeers did not put up any resistance, but were dejected. They wanted to atone. D'Artagnan could not find a way for them to do so, would take time to even allow it after he had been whipped.

Porthos gestured for them to leave. Treville was calling for the Musketeers to assemble.

D'Artagnan pulled off his shirt, having left his cloak, jacket and pauldron in his room. He passed it to Aramis for safekeeping.

"You are bruised. Are those from the Red Guards?" Aramis ghosted over the marks on d'Artagnan's torso.

"I'll kill them." Porthos vowed, only being restrained by Athos.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "It does not matter. Not now." They did not bother him as much as what he would be facing. As he stepped out he could see the sea of blue capes, usually so stirring, but this time he wanted to erase the scene from his memory as the Musketeers stood side by side with the Red Guards. Blue and red clashed.

d'Artagnan took the steps to the center of the garrison alone. He felt his three friends following him, their eyes upon him. However, they could only stand as witnesses.

He had lost the innocence of Lupiac, gained a new understanding that honor among soldiers was fluid. Good musketeers were cocky and arrogant, They had ruthlessness, which he had seen in himself that spilled into recklessness with repercussions. There was a lesson for him, but it would carry a bitterness for a while.

He put his hands in front of him and got into place, seeing as he was going to be tied to the post with his hands above him looped through a hook. The punisher tapped at his feet, which were tied to the post. It would not be wise to have his body moving while being lashed.

The decree was read by the Cardinal in a loud voice filled with pride. D'Artagnan ignored it in order to prepare. He willed himself to not call out. The first lash burned as did the next few until his mind could not register the pain any longer. Twenty other lashes and the deliverer switched to the other side. The break refreshed the pain once more, settling into numbness.

D'Artagnan felt himself going weak, using the pole to hold him up while his arms hung. His focus was the sound; the whish as the flogger was pulled back then went through the air before striking. Mercifully, the sound stopped.

It was not the man who had been punishing his body that cut him down. Athos took his sword to the loop holding his hands on the hook while Aramis was at his feet. Porthos had his flank, holding him up as his legs fully took their weight.

The Gascon felt himself falter, but Porthos kept him standing.

"It is an ounce of pride that they took,"d'Artagnan mumbled past the dryness in his throat and the taste of iron on his lips. He had bit his tongue to keep his silence at one point.

"Nothing was taken," Athos said quietly close to his ear. "You showed courage and honor. Did you not hear the musketeers?"

D'Artagnan shook his head, he had not heard anything, but when he looked up he saw that the musketeers had formed a line, an honor guard, which protected him from the eyes of the Red Guards.

"They roared for you, never heard anything like it," Porthos said with a nod of pride.

"Did I call out?" If he hadn't heard the musketeers, then what if he had yelled without noticing?

"No." Aramis rubbed the back of his head.

D'Artagnan took steps slowly, feeling his friends surrounding him. "Help me, but do not carry me." He could collapse in private, but not here in front of the Musketeers, Red Guards or the Cardinal. There could be no weakness.

TBC


	5. Third Way Home Part C

Third Way Home: Last Part

By: tidia

Notes: I hope I have reached out and thanked everyone. It is amazing to have other fandom writers that I love comment and the good suggestions I get from readers! Thank you and shout outs to- Richefic, Rhesa (Paris, Texas is coming!), immie8, AZ Girl (Your idea is in here and love poisoned d'Art), Phantom Dragon (have notes on the story we discussed), Tinkerbella7, Candycakes, kyuubecky, bearsrawesome, Rauldehadleyfraser (werewolves my new obsession!). On to some comfort and still hurt..lol

* * *

Athos should not have been impressed by d'Artagnan's determination. It was expected. The same expectation he had of Porthos and Aramis, too. Still, d'Artagnan was a new Musketeer and his brothers should have taken better care. Young musketeers paid for their mistakes, but not for the mistakes of others. That came later when they were entwined within the brotherhood.

d'Artagnan faltered once they closed the door. Athos gave the signal for Porthos to carry him to the bed.

"I think I may be sick." d'Artagnan announced with a groan.

Aramis put the chamber pot on his lap. The Gascon heaved, expelled what seemed to be some of last night's drink, then spat.

"Drink," Aramis placed a cup in d'Artagnan's hand, guided it to his mouth. d'Artagnan winced at the taste, but continued to finish the drink under Aramis's watchful eyes.

Aramis gave a silent command, Athos complying by guiding d'Artagnan to lay on his stomach. His hair was sweat soaked.

There was a knock at the door, which Porthos answered bringing in two buckets of water before retrieving a pot of steaming water that had been left at the door. They were given privacy to tend to d'Artagnan.

Athos took one of the buckets and a cloth to wipe down d'Artagnan's hair, then settled the cloth on the younger man's neck.

Aramis used the warm water to clean the injured man's back with him wincing and gasping as the cloth swirled red. "I'm trying to be gentle."

"The bleeding's not stopping," Porthos commented. Athos growled at him, but Porthos was nonplussed. "What do you need?"

Aramis ran his hands through his hair, having discarded his hat as soon as he entered d'Artagnan's room. "I cannot stich this- the skin is shredded."

"Can you stop the bleeding?" Athos was trying to get his friend to focus. Aramis was brilliant, but the sight of d'Artagnan's back was overwhelming, mottled, peeled skin that was more akin to raw meat.

"Honey and salt. It will protect it while it heals, close the wounds and prevent infection. It won't be pleasant." Aramis looked towards d'Artagnan. "And you cannot move until the wounds stop bleeding."

d'Artagnan turned his head. "I trust you."

"Honey and salt," Athos said. Porthos moved out the door before being asked.

The paste was sticky and difficult to initially apply. d'Artagnan cushioned his head on his bent elbows. He tried to shift away from the mixture, but soft words and restricting hands limited his movements.

Eventually, d'Artagnan fell into a fitful doze, his back slick and uncovered, showing the lash marks. There would be scars, but hopefully no infection.

Aramis gestured they converse away from the bed. "He's already warm with fever, but I believe it's his body's way of dealing with trauma. He needs to give that time to knit. We can't have him moving around."

Porthos crossed his arms. "We can take turns watching him during the night, but it's not going to be easy to keep the lad here like this."

"Should be a few days, I hope. It's cruel, though, like extending the punishment." Aramis sighed.

The intention was to have Porthos stay with d'Artagnan the first night, but none of them showed interest of leaving the younger man's side. They played cards to pass the time, tried to keep d'Artagnan cool and relaxed in slumber.

When he did wake in the late hours he tried to push himself up, uncomfortable on his stomach, feeling hot with his back on fire.

Athos heard the rustling, and when he moved from his chair the sound had Aramis and Porthos alert. Athos placed a hand on the Gascon's too warm head. "Shhh, you were injured. You have to stay put."

"I wasn't injured. I was whipped." D'Artagnan snorted. "Can you help me at least get to my side a little bit?"

Aramis nodded.

Porthos helped the wounded young man move to his side, sitting on the bed so that d'Artagnan could lean against him. "Aramis can help you create a tale about how you were saving some fine woman and got hurt. How else can you explain his success?"

"Surely, not his comely looks." Athos deadpanned.

"Ah, the sound of jealousy," Aramis replied. "Drink this. It will help with the fever." He had a cup of wine that he had infused with herbs waiting for the young man to wake.

d'Artagnan grimaced at the taste, but drank it all the same. "This isn't what I thought being a musketeer would be like."

Athos cleared his throat. "Your friendship with us brought you some unwanted notice."

d'Artagnan raised a brow. "And yet you keep saying that I am the one that finds trouble?"

"You do," Porthos answered. "It's what makes you a good musketeer."

"I don't know if that makes me a good musketeer or a stupid one. I did get involved with Milady and this mess. . ." D'Artagnan pushed his hair away as it fell forward, then rubbed his eyes.

Athos bent down, not liking the defeatist tone. "Circumstances which you handled well, like a _great_ musketeer."

"With the help of your fine friends, who also happen to be great musketeers," Aramis added, which had d'Artagnan giving a small grin even as his eyes closed.

Porthos slowly set d'Artagnan back on his stomach when the young man did not resist. Within moments he was asleep once more.

(())

Athos had to agree with Porthos's prediction; keeping d'Artagnan put would be an issue. The fever lasted into the next day, soon after d'Artagnan was feeling better, but some of the wounds were still weeping. He had to remain on his stomach or supported on his side. Athos brought him books, which were browsed then discarded, carefully placed on the floor in a pile by d'Artagnan's head so he could access them on a whim.

Standing up for limited time proved Aramis's point, the lashes would open, seep, leaving d'Artagnan frustrated and back in bed.

"You have to give them time to seal. They already look better, but they are still raw." Aramis applied more of the honey and salt to encourage the marks to knit.

He had removed any looking glasses from d'Artagnan's room, since he did not want the young man to view his back or ask to see it. It was stomach turning, still looking like someone had tried to skin him, but at least the skin was more pink than red. Touching the wounds caused d'Artagnan to hiss and flinch. The salt stung on the exposed skin.

"As a child when you were ill were you this belligerent?"

d'Artagnan huffed. "I was not sickly. On the rare occasions I remember sleeping, eating a little and drinking this vile brew. . ."

Aramis smiled, wiping his hands on a damp cloth. "A sleeping draught?"

Athos's mouth quirked up. "It was effective."

d'Artagnan tried to raise himself up, but fell back as Athos placed a hand on the top of his shoulder. "No. Wait, I can't believe it. My own father. . ."

"I can see why." Aramis was unable to hide his mirth, chortling. He wiped tears from his eyes. "The one I gave you was just for the pain and fever, but do try to be a better patient."

It was Porthos who had the brilliant idea to enlist the musketeers to help their brother as he convalesced. This brought in the visits from any musketeer available at all hours. d'Artagnan was a captive and willing audience to listen to the stories the men brought to his bedside. For d'Artagnan he was learning more about the other musketeers, their ways, personalities, idiosyncrasies, experiences and mistakes. The young Gascon was one of them, part of their brotherhood. There was a reminder for the other musketeers too, on upholding their code.

Finally, Aramis was satisfied that d'Artagnan could have limited movement, nothing that would stretch and pull the healing marks, but he could at least move around the garrison with a shirt covering his mending back, anything else would irritate the skin. The pauldron, his jacket would have to wait. There would be no sword fighting for a little while longer.

Aramis passed d'Artagnan the shirt as he sat on the bed. d'Artagnan took it in his hand, turning it over. "How bad is it?"

The medic decided to ignore the young man, humming and tiding up the room instead.

"Aramis, I would like to see," d'Artagnan tried again.

He stopped humming. Aramis sighed. The Gascon's back was originally smooth with no marring, but now it would be unrecognizable and monstrous. "Wait a little longer."

"Please."

Aramis shook his head, but acquiesced. "Stay here." He had placed the looking glasses in his room, carried them back with a heavy heart. Aramis silently placed one in d'Artagnan's hands and positioned himself behind the young man. "Remember, it is still healing."

The Gascon thinned his lips as he studied his back, his face schooled to blankness. "It's not what I expected." He put the glass down on the bed.

"There was no way to warn you." Aramis took a seat next to the younger man.

d'Artagnan worked the shirt over his arms and Aramis helped pull it down over his back, placing his hand on the back of the young musketeer's neck. "They will fade."

((()))

d'Artagnan sat at the table, cleaning some of the muskets. He squinted as Athos, Porthos and Aramis took a seat next to him. They had duty at the palace.

"Edmund, Bastian and Arc?" d'Artagnan looked as though he had been saving the question, waiting for them to arrive. "I have not seen them."

"Their mission takes them to the mountains for the next few months," Athos replied. Treville had made the arrangements and the trio had not disagreed, gone willingly.

"At least," Aramis added.

"Punishment." Porthos grinned.

"Of a sort." Athos thought that they deserved to be stripped of their commission, but Treville thought that loss would be a win for the Cardinal. The Captain, as usual, had made a measured decision. "They will return wiser for it."

d'Artagnan moved in closer to the other three. "It's the Cardinal that deserves to be punished." He put down the musket as his back flared when it rippled it in anger. He would bear scars because of the despicable nature of the minister of France.

"The King has been embarrassing him, make asides about the loyalty of his Musketeers. He knows how the men reacted to your flogging," Aramis explained.

"Keeps mentioning you as his favorite." Athos drawled. He didn't know if it was good or bad that d'Artagnan was in receipt of the king's favor. d'Artagnan had already made a powerful enemy in the Cardinal and more could follow, but Athos, Porthos and Aramis had vowed again to protect him as they watched him be flogged.

"Makes me wonder how he treats those who are not his favorite?" Porthos asked, knocking on the table.

"It's not enough, though, is it?"d'Artagnan asked, but wasn't expecting an answer. He had heard the stories from the other musketeers, the sacrifices made to secure the safety of the royals. d'Artagnan was willing, not to just to defend the King and Queen, the heir, too, but to have the privilege to stand with his fellow Musketeers through it all. "But, it is because of this." d'Artagnan waved his hand to gesture to the garrison.

"For the brotherhood." Athos's hand moved closer to d'Artagnan's. "It's saved lives." Athos glanced towards Porthos and Aramis. They needed the musketeers, like Athos and d'Artagnan. "It will not fail you in the future."

d'Artagnan believed the oath, carried the scars of it.

The end, but I will be adding to Ways Home in general :)


	6. Attention To Detail

Attention to Detail

By: Tidia

Beta: That Girl Six (although I did add a touch more so those mistakes, all me)

Disclaimer in regards to BBC Musketeers

Notes: This came to me and I wanted to be amused. I hope it is enjoyed with a smile. Yes, hurt d'Artagnan.

* * *

d'Artagnan pulled his sword from one of the bandits who attacked them. He kept his blade raised to look for another attacker, but he only saw his friends standing. Porthos knocked out one of the culprits with his fists while Aramis wiped his blade, finished with his raider. Athos had his arm around the one d'Artagnan believed was the leader.

d'Artagnan's hand went under his jacket, feeling the damp spot. He walked towards where Athos had pinned the leader to a tree, sword at his throat.

"Athos—" d'Artagnan started, an ache beginning to emerge from his wound. He did not have a chance to discuss the injury.

"Get the horses, then help Porthos," Athos ordered without a second look back. It had been a long mission with more aggravation than expected. Their tempers were becoming short. An unexpected attack did not help the situation. "Aramis, help me tie him up."

"I—"

"Now, d'Artagnan." Athos seemed focused on the area now filled with bandits either dead or injured. "This will already be a costly delay."

The young man understood the schedule, the importance of the missives from the Duchy of Milan they were returning to Paris. He did not want to burden his friend. The injury could not be too bad if he was able to stand and function. Much was expected of a musketeer.

d'Artagnan gathered their horses that had moved away during the skirmish and a few belonging to the brigands, which would carry the bodies and injured. He walked slowly over the grass, holding the reins of some of the horses while corralling the others to follow to where Porthos checked on the bodies.

"You got the horses." He took the reins, tying them to a nearby tree dropping green leaves slowly to the earth. "We're going to have to tie them to their horses."

There were seven bodies. d'Artagnan could feel his heartbeat in the slice in his side. His hand returned to it; liquid greeted him. "Porthos, I don't think—"

Porthos bent over the body of the robber. "Take his feet. The two of us will make quick work of this."

d'Artagnan sighed. To be a musketeer would require strength and perseverance. His Gascon stubbornness would help him put this aside until there was a proper moment. He suppressed a groan as he took hold of the thief's feet, then assisted in hoisting the body on the horse.

When they were finished, d'Artagnan wiped the sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool day. He wanted to sit but kept up with Porthos, albeit with a bit of a hitch in his step as the top of his trousers rubbed against the injury. They went to where Aramis and Athos were interrogating the leader, a wiry, long bearded man who had his mouth firmly clenched.

"You led them to their deaths. What for? How many people have you attacked and robbed?" Athos asked with a sword tip to the bandit's neck held steady.

"Word will get around, and no one will follow you," Aramis added to the man tied to the tree without the ability to move. "You'll need to find a different line of work, although you'll probably be hanged."

The man's eyes darted from Porthos to d'Artagnan before lowering to the wound. This was the man who had given d'Artagnan the cut when the thieves first attacked. "These are your friends?"

The leader noticed his wound had not been tended. At least it could be used for their benefit, and maybe then he could rest, have his injury tended.

d'Artagnan stepped closer to the captured man. "Yes, and they care about me, so can you imagine what they do to vermin like you? I would talk." He moved Athos's blade so it drew blood. "I'll get them started."

Aramis pulled d'Artagnan away with a frown. d'Artagnan figured this would be the moment when he could get medical attention. "Aramis, I'm—"

"Fine. I'll talk," the leader said and informed them how he and his friends had taken up robbing unsuspecting passersby over the last few months. He shared with them the location of the remaining items they had looted, plus the graves of the deceased. They thought the musketeers would have a secret stash of gold upon them.

"That was well done." Aramis gave d'Artagnan a slap on the back, which flared the Gascon's injury as it reverberated through him. The young man took in a deep breath to steady himself. He was about to reach out to Aramis, grabbed him by his sleeve, but Athos caught his attention again.

"d'Artagnan, tie him to a horse as well." Athos bent to release the leader from the tree.

The younger man swallowed as blackness started encroaching on his periphery. He blinked it away at first, but he was unable to hold it back. "I really. . . " d'Artagnan tried to find something to lean against to keep him upright, but instead he got to one knee with a hand on his still-bleeding side.

"Are you going to tie his feet?" Athos asked, throwing some of the cut rope towards d'Artagnan.

He did not mean to get angry, but this obliviousness had caused him to reach his limit. d'Artagnan lifted his hand to show the blood on his glove. "I'm bleeding."

"Oi!" Porthos called out, coming to his side. "Why didn't you say you were hurt?"

d'Artagnan pushed at Porthos weakly in aggravation, getting blood on the man's jacket. He didn't want anyone's help at the moment. He just wanted to get his wits about him as the anger spike made the blood on his side flow more freely. "I tried! With you, with him, and almost with him."

"No need to be dramatic," Porthos admonished, helping him to standing.

d'Artagnan growled.

"How did he know?" Athos pointed to the leader of the attackers.

In the meantime, Athos got the criminal to standing, still tied up, which limited his movements to ridiculous jumping.

"I gave it to him. Are you telling me you didn't know?" The bandit scoffed. He turned with a hop. "What are you, blind? I told everything to some stupid musketeers."

"Shut up!" Aramis, Athos ,and Porthos yelled in return.

The man spat. "You'll be lucky if he doesn't die."

Athos replied by punching the man in the jaw, allowing him to fall to the ground with a thump.

"Well, that's effective," Aramis quipped, gesturing for Porthos to guide d'Artagnan to sit against the vacated tree.

Aramis lifted the shirt and adjusted the top of d'Artagnan's pants away from the slice. "I can stitch this up here or, since d'Artagnan has been so patient, wait until we get to the next town? That would be a better situation. It may be troublesome to be on a horse."

They were now hyper-concerned and sensitive. d'Artagnan rolled his eyes as Athos talked over his head to Aramis. "He's lost blood. . ."

"I will bind it." Aramis accepted his saddle bags from Porthos.

"Uh, I'm still here," d'Artagnan interrupted. He found this amusing as they focused on their tasks at hand, first with dealing with the bandits, now with his injury. He wished they could just whisk away to Paris.

"d'Artagnan? Are you in pain?" Aramis's hand went to the Gascon's forehead. "He doesn't feel warm."

The Gascon batted the hand away. He felt the eyes of his friends on him. "I'm sorry. I think you didn't expect anyone to be injured in the skirmish."

Athos crouched down. "We should have known or asked."

"There was this time when we were attacked by two men and the bullet found me," Porthos explained with a hand going to his arm. "No one else was injured. I wish someone else had been hurt. Right embarrassing . . . sorry."

Aramis packed the wound, giving a cooling gaze to Porthos. "Are you well enough to ride?"

d'Artagnan winced. "I can do it." He sighed.

Athos gave a half smile. "You're going to make us feel very guilty aren't you?"

"Is it working?"

Aramis helped him to stand after he finished wrapping the wound. "You're becoming devious. A good trait for a musketeer."

Porthos laughed in response. "I feel guilty, so it's working. I may have to buy the lad a dinner."

"A bottle of wine, too," d'Artagnan added.

Athos's eyebrows rose. "You seem to be embracing our guilty consciences."

"I approve." Aramis shadowed d'Artagnan. "As the one who will stitch you, I feel that I am absolved."

The Gascon nodded, it was not good to rile Aramis before stitching.

The forgotten leader started to groan. Athos kicked him in response, nodding towards d'Artagnan. "He needs to be gagged."

The young musketeer appreciated Athos's gesture of the kick to the man who had injured him. "Some help?" He needed assistance to get on the horse, and three sets of hands reached out.

The end.


	7. Singed Home

Singed Home

By: Tidia

Beta: That Girl Six

Written for: That Girl Six

Notes: This story was inspired by The Hundred Foot Journey (if you have seen the movie, then you know the scene). Also, That Girl Six has been gracious about betaing and wanting me to be more descriptive. I whined that I wanted to have fun, but figured for her I would write this. Tadaa. Enjoy!

* * *

Walking the streets of Paris late at night, d'Artagnan reveled in the quietness of the darkened streets. Candlelight was intermittent, flickering in the windows of taverns, some inns and guest houses. It was enough to make Paris seem as if d'Artagnan was viewing it through a veil.

d'Artagnan was becoming accustomed to the scents of food, people and waste that was prominent in Paris as was the perfume that tried to cover it all. Still, he was not lulled into believing Paris at night was safe so he kept his gloved hand on his rapier. He was a musketeer, alert and ready even after a few drinks with Porthos, Athos and Aramis at the _Les Anysetiers du Roy._

He had begged off staying later, excusing himself once Aramis had absconded with one of the serving maids. Porthos had tried pushing a willing mademoiselle towards him, but she had cozied to the larger man. Athos had only raised a brow and his glass. He had promised to leave once the cup was finished.

d'Artagnan believed him. Since Milady had disappeared, Athos had tamed his drinking habits. It was rare it was to excess. So Athos would return to his rooms, Aramis would find respite with the maid, Porthos too with his woman while d'Artagnan returned to the garrison, taking a route to avoid the rue of the Bonaciuex home.

He had been with other women since Constance's decision, but her red hair still held him spellbound. d'Artagnan concentrated on his footsteps on the uneven cobblestones, then made eye contact with a passerby to judge if they were up to nefarious deeds. All was still well.

As he neared the garrison, there was usually more life in the square due to the nature of the garrison. It was guarded, and musketeers could be called by the palace at any time. d'Artagnan narrowed his eyes, looking for Etienne and Jean. Not seeing them could have meant they were making a patrol of the area.

The Gascon rubbed a gloved hand under his nose as he caught a different scent of smoke. He hurried his pace, going into a run coming to the front gate of the garrison. The momentum of his pace slipped into a slide next to Etienne crumpled on the ground.

A few pats on the face elicited a moan, which relaxed d'Artagnan, except the smell of smoke was stronger. He looked through the gates to see the source of brilliant flames licking through the balcony seeking to spread unhindered.

"Fire!" he yelled as he unhooked his musketeer cloak, readying to beat the flames. "Fire! Fire!"

The heat greeted him, warming his skin too fast, making him feel he had gotten too close to the blacksmith's work. It was breathless work to lift his cloak to beat back the flames as smoke was left in the wake of each stamped out flame.

The garrison came alive, enough that the balcony was getting weight on it. The creaking sound made d'Artagnan look up. He took a step back as the distraction allowed the flames to momentarily best him, nipping his exposed cuffs along with wood brace above him. Folding his cloak he aimed it at the intruding orange weaving its way in the upper floor boards so that parts were breaking off as embers rained down on him.

"d'Artagnan!"

He turned into a bucket of water splashing on his side above where his rapier sat on his waist. Where there had once been unnoticed flames was the smell of leather and a sooty shirt with a blackened hole with reddened skin peaking through.

"Your hands." Luc grabbed him, making d'Artagnan stumble on the hard packed earth until he was pushed into the water trough nearby, his upper body getting drenched, causing a ripple of a shiver to shake through him. Luc pulled him out of the water as d'Artagnan couldn't get purchase with his hands, then left him to attack the flames.

His hands screamed in searing pain, straining against the gloves. d'Artagnan fell to the side of the trough, his face skimming the rough wood with a sting, but he was determined with his teeth to remove the gloves. He bit into the looseness of his index finger, tasting over-cooked meat and smoke. He struggled with a muffled scream, moving the glove only slightly. It was enough to whiten the world.

((()))

In Athos's dream there was a pounding noise of someone running away, alone on the street so the sound echoed on the cobblestones. There was a need to follow to see where it led to save the person from the threat.

"Athos."

He stopped following the noise to listen. Was he being tempted to go in a different direction? To safety? Towards the threat? The rhythm changed-it was more uneven than the tempo and pace of running feet.

"Wake up! Treville has sent me!"

For a moment, although his eyes were open he could not tell if he was sleeping or awake. The knocking made him come to awareness in haste, leaving behind the dream fugue. Athos did not call out, instead padding to the door.

"For God's sake…" the person outside grumbled until Athos opened the door slightly to see a musketeer he recognized. "Finally," Luc sighed, sticking his foot in the door, bringing with him a waft of smoke and singe.

Athos was not given a chance to speak, though in the early morning hours his mind was working, but his mouth was not. He grunted.

"Come quickly to the garrison. There's been a fire. Find Aramis and Porthos if you can." Luc did not wait for an answer; he backed away, then turned to rush along the street.

Well practiced in dressing quickly, Athos propelled himself only moments behind Luc in the crisp Paris morning still cool enough to bring him fully to waking. What had happened at the garrison?

This time of the morning brought in the fragrance of bakeries, bread and pastries in warm ovens preparing for customers' needs. It was calming for Athos, who was not one to be tempted by sweets or even breakfast. It meant the world was coming alive at a chance for renewal.

Athos had no idea how to find Porthos and Aramis, still he looked around for signs as he made his way to the garrison. As he neared the square the pungent odor of smoke was strong, and there were more blue cloaks than usual around the perimeter.

Another musketeer, Hubert, joined him coming from the other side to meet Athos. "The garrison was attacked. Someone set a fire, getting past Etienne and Jean."

"Have they been caught?" To desecrate the home of the musketeers was a travesty.

"Etienne gave a description, so Treville sent out guards to watch the roads. They'll be caught." Hubert escorted him to the entrance of the gate. The closer Athos got to the damage the more a scent of roasted pig assaulted him. It permeated the air never to be diminished or carried away by the wind.

Usually there were a few musketeers milling about in the morning, but it seemed as though most of the regiment was present with Treville leading them to clear away charred wood. "Secure those stairs." The balcony had a gaping hole surrounded by wood planks that had shriveled and blackened. The structure was frail.

"Captain," Athos announced himself to the leader.

Treville gestured for the musketeers to continue their work. Athos followed his captain, his rigid posture unrevealing. "The physician has just left," Treville said as he opened the door to a room.

Covered with a white sheet, lying on the bed asleep was d'Artagnan. His hands were out, blanketed by an enormous amount of bandages. Athos dragged a chair over, taking a seat by the bed. "Just his hands?"

Treville lifted the sheet to show the other bandage around d'Artagnan's torso. "A bit on his side."

"What did the physician say?" Athos stared at his protégé.

"To keep the burns cleaned, let them heal." Treville clasped his hands behind his back. "He helped fight back the fire, called out the warning."

"You'll tell Aramis and Porthos when they arrive at the garrison where to find us?" Athos didn't take his eyes off d'Artagnan. This was a drugged sleep. Athos's eyes drifted to the table with the tincture of poppy.

Treville left them, closing the door with barely a sound.

"No training for a while, my friend." Athos kept his hands to himself, clenching them in sympathy. "You'll even need help with a spoon and knife."

((()))

d'Artagnan refused to leave his room at first, never for meals so worried was he by the looks of pity from the other musketeers. The first concession he made was evening walks with the three other men as escorts. No one was allowed near d'Artagnan so he would not be jostled. The walks also served to tire him out.

"Let them soak." The water was salted, stinging the blisters, pink and swollen skin, but d'Artagnan settled per Aramis's request. "It could be worse."

What was worse than grotesque and useless hands? d'Artagnan wondered as he looked away from his injury. "Hmmm."

"The blisters protect the other skin, helping it to heal." Aramis lifted d'Artagnan's hands from the bath, gently wrapping them in soft cloths to dry them. There were many small water-filled sacks littered across his hands. On the right hand there was a large blister which took up his thumb going down to his wrist. It pulled his skin taut to look transparent. The left had fluid on the top part of his hand in the center. His fingers on both hands were puffed and swollen.

"Can we leave them unwrapped so I can eat?"

Aramis turned his hands palm up to show the raised blotches. Between the blisters and swelling he was unable to make a fist. "Not yet." The medic applied the honey with light a touch on the burns.

d'Artagnan willed the blisters to pop, release slightly so he would have more movement. In the meantime, Aramis's ministrations were uncomfortable, bringing back d'Artagnan's attention to the perpetual throbbing and heat, which felt hot enough to catch on to kindling.

Porthos lay a hand on his shoulder as he tried to pull his hand away to find less pain. "They're disgusting. Wait until they heal so the rest of us can enjoy our meals."

This forced d'Artagnan back to retreat to his morose mood and self-inflicted exile, which was not meant to be when Athos entered without knocking. d'Artagnan had lost the dignity of privacy-he needed help to dress, to eat, and to open a door.

"You've been asked to be on parade duty," Athos announced, taking in the sight of d'Artagnan's burnt hands as Aramis commenced his wrappings.

"Why?" d'Artagnan had lost patience after five days, in turn having a more prickly nature.

"Can you manage it?"

"I can ride without my hands." The Gascon answered Porthos, but remained silent about needing assistance on mounting the horse, promising himself not to ask. There was another way, and this would not defeat him.

"Surely, the king did not request d'Artagnan specifically?" Aramis tied off the bandages on the right.

"He did. Something to the effect of even injured his musketeers are loyal to him."

d'Artagnan picked up his stark white bandaged hand, glaring in its noticeability. "I'm to be on parade."

"This adds a little excitement, eh?" Porthos shrugged his shoulders, seeking to find some humor in the situation. It failed when d'Artagnan gasped. "Right. I'm going to get us some dinner. A baguette for you, lad?"

The Gascon glared at the larger musketeer with a pointed look. This was not amusing. After two days of being fed, Porthos stumbled upon a solution by putting meat in a baguette; d'Artagnan could manage the bulky bread in between his hands. It was still awkward, along with drinking from a bowl instead of a cup. Yet, it could have been worse.

((()))

"I am sorry."

Aramis did not ask what d'Artagnan was apologizing for-bad humor, lack of patience, needing his friends, but each time he acknowledged it. "There is nothing to be sorry for. It's easy enough to help you with your boots and cape." Aramis had the discretion not to mention pants, shirt, belt, rapier and musket.

"Are you in pain?"

"It's tolerable." d'Artagnan could only look straight ahead as his cape was tied.

Aramis did not press. "You look quite dashing."

They exited with d'Artagnan setting his hands back so they were covered by the folds of his blue cloak.

Porthos was holding the Gascon's horse steady. "Do you need help?"

There was a look of determination on d'Artagnan's face. He had obviously been contemplating this situation as he placed his foot in the stirrup then hooked his elbow on the horn, bringing himself to the saddle.

"Well done," Athos complimented.

Unfortunately for Porthos there was a lack of excitement as he complained repeatedly by Aramis's side. The king had beamed a smile at the young musketeer, then needled the cardinal throughout the route as if the man did not detest them enough.

As usual Aramis avoided the queen, but her closeness still stirred intimacy. Athos's eyes lingered upon him as if he could read his mind. "Perhaps we can ask Treville to do a patrol on the countryside?" Unsaid was that it was for the boy. The fresh air away from the garrison would be a boon.

Athos acknowledged the idea and would insure that it was an order from their Captain.

((()))

Hubert greeted them upon their arrival. "The arsonists have been found and sent to the chatelet."

Porthos growled in response. Truly, he had wanted to exact some vengeance on those who dared try to turn his home into ash.

"Did they work alone?"

Athos was always looking for more information, but if there were more involved then it at least gave Porthos another chance to quell his anger.

Hubert nodded. "Treville's been waiting for you."

They retired to d'Artagnan's room, Aramis already having gathered his supplies to change the dressings.

"I think they are looking better, and the blister on your thumb has no fluid," Aramis said, looking pleased at the pink skin with white edges determined to be a scar.

Scars did not bother Porthos, not when he wore one on his face. He wondered if d'Artagnan would care. No one had talked about the marks that would remain. "I think the lad actually is grinning."

"He thinks he will be able to pick up a sword soon."

"Soon enough," d'Artagnan replied to Athos. "Along with a musket with Aramis and wrestling with Porthos." The Gascon was eager.

Porthos laughed a deep chuckle which sent him to sitting. It was an infrequent carefree moment. They were musketeers and the fighting whether with their hands, muskets or rapiers was a need that needed to be satisfied. It didn't make them a bloodthirsty lot, but men with a purpose to defend.

The end


	8. New Home

Title: A Hero's Disdain

Notes: Coming in at the last minutes. I am sure there are mistakes, but I wanted to get this up. I have to finish Paris, Texas, which is written but not ready. UGH

HAPPY NEW YEAR

* * *

Athos came down the stairs. He had been in Treville's office when d'Artagnan had come out to join the others for breakfast. Serge brought him a bowl of porridge that the nobleman looked with disdain. "Bontecou is set to arrive by the end of the week."

"Is he planning on staying?" Aramis paused in eating his buttered and sugared bread.

The young musketeer was unfamiliar with the name. "Who is Bontecou?"

"The hero of La Rochelle, said to have held back a hundred Huguenots," Porthos answered, then tapped his sword pommel.

"An exaggeration," Athos commented, toying with the spoon in the porridge.

Porthos shook his head in disagreement with their leader. "He's given the Musketeers a good name."

"He is considered the best of us," Aramis agreed, leaving d'Artagnan wondering about the hero musketeer. He always thought of the inseparables as the best in the garrison, the Gascon wondered about the man they admired.

"But he is stationed in La Rochelle?"

Aramis nodded. "Chose to remain there, which is why his visit is interesting."

"I look forward to meeting him." The Gascon hoped that his friends wouldn't mind him asking questions about the musketeer.

A week later d'Artagnan met Marcel Bontecou as he entered the garrison to adulation of the musketeers who were nearby. He didn't know what to expect, but the young man had painted an idea in his mind of a giant of a man. Instead Bontecou was as tall as Athos, but wider with obvious muscular build. Under his hat his hair was cropped short, while his beard was coarse dark and pointed.

The hero of La Rochelle greeted the other musketeers as he made his way to the stairs to the Captain's room. Aramis, Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan found themselves face to face with Bontecou as he came down the stairs.

My friends!" The new arrival gripped Porthos's forearm and greeted the other two in similar ways. "Taken on a shadow?"

d'Artagnan had stood back, unwilling to intrude.

"This is our newest musketeer, d'Artagnan," Athos made the introductions.

Bontecou gave a nod. "Never thought you three would take on a pup." The man from La Rochelle laughed at in inside joke before sharing it, "Did he follow you home one day?"

The others smirked, and d'Artagnan tried to cover his embarrassment by laughing.

"It's an interesting story. . ." Porthos started, but was waived off by Bontecou.

"Perhaps tomorrow we can meet over a meal and you can tell me the story," his attention already diverted as he walked away.

Aramis took off his hat and slapped it against his thigh. "Signora Gabriella, Queen of the Stage from Venezia is gracing Paris with her presence once more. I will be seeing her tonight."

Porthos shrugged. "Then it is to the tavern without you."

Le Coq Assoiffé was not as diverting as d'Artagnan expected and he decided to make it an earlier evening, leaving Porthos with his gambling and Athos finishing his glass. The Gascon ambled in the darkness of Paris with eyes searching. The usual noises still required a few moments of scrutiny because of the hour.

It was unexpected to see Bontecou with his arm around a lady's waist escorting her into an awaiting carriage. He saw them kiss, and the woman's face clearly, recognizing her from the drawings around town announcing Signora Gabriella. Waiting until after they passed by in the coach, d'Artagnan made his way to the garrison for a night's rest.

The next morning Aramis was already seated at their table with breakfast in hand when Porthos broached the subject of their friend's amorous evening. "Didn't expect to see you so early this morning."

"La Signora was otherwise engaged with a previous commitment with the theater company, but has promised me tonight."

d'Artagnan frowned, but wanted to spare his friend any embarrassment. "I saw Bontecou with the actress."

Athos slid into the seat by the young musketeer. "The actress acted?"

Quick with a withering glare to the blue-eyed musketeer, Aramis was not above a retort. "It was night, and the lady has affections for me. It is not theater between her and I."

Bontecou saw the men as entered the garrison. "You look all to be in a foul mood."

For some reason Aramis did not want to believe that a woman had chosen another over him. "You're just the man to fix it. Any entertainment last night?"

The Gascon expected Marcel to talk about the actress, unwittingly not knowing that Aramis was supposed to be spending time with the Signora. "I reacquainted myself with a twice widowed woman who lives nearby. Why?"

d'Artagnan opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced by Aramis's glare.

"No reason. Mistaken identity in the darkness of the night. Right, d'Artagnan."

Perhaps he had been distracted or drank too much, which was why he thought he saw Bontecou. A quick nod seemed to satisfy the sharpshooter.

"Treville mentioned we are to present ourselves to the King today." Bontecou sat down scratching his beard until the spot he had attacked was pinked.

"Yes, as always when the King hears petitions," Athos drawled.

It was tedious to listen to the litany of complaints with the King taking most issues under advisement, failing to make a decision. However, in between a villager asking for taxes to be lowered and a farming problem, the Cardinal whispered into Louis's ear. Bontecou was called forward.

"They know each other from La Rochelle," Porthos explained. d'Artagnan recalled hearing about the Cardinal's leadership at the battle.

"He's a favorite of the king," the young musketeer commented.

Aramis, like the others, had been scanning the room to see if there was potential for discord. "Are you jealous that you've been displaced?"

Those in the hall seemed to have their attention focused on the King and Bontecou. Louis was asking for a story of the hero's adventure. "What? No. I'm not the king's favorite at all."

"Oh, he knows your name," Porthos added. It was true that as a new musketeer he drew more attention, but since Athos's winning fight with the Duke of Savoy, d'Artagnan believed his mentor was always in the monarch's line of sight.

"Maybe not right now." Aramis grinned.

Somehow as the days passed d'Artagnan grew to like Bontecou less and less, but he grew in the esteem of the other musketeers, especially the recruits. It was among the recruits that there seemed to be a growing dissent against d'Artagnan.

The recruits and d'Artagnan had been close, having spent time together before the Gascon became a musketeer. Soon some of them would receive their commissions. The young musketeer could commiserate with them, but they had means and family to turn to whereas d'Artagnan had only the musketeers.

"Why do not the rest of you train with the inseparables?"

Once d'Artagnan had overheard that, then he requested Athos, Aramis and Porthos work with the recruits. "They seem to want Bontecou's attention," Porthos commented after agreeing to spend some time with the potential musketeers.

Trying to avoid the recruits and Bontecou was a bit of a challenge, but his friends seemed not to notice. He did not want to explain himself and hoped either that Bontecou returned to La Rochelle or he could weather the problem.

It was not to be as a musketeer had fallen ill and Treville had arranged for d'Artagnan to take the evening shift, along with assigning him the recruits. Bontecou invited himself. As they patrolled the streets of Paris, Bontecou made comments at the Gascon's expense, but it was as their shift was ending where the friction grew worse.

Bontecou was pulling the four recruits with him.

"I thought I heard something." There was one more street, which his friends had promised he would pay attention to on duty. d'Artagnan started down the streets and noticed no one was following. "It's the Baron Anjou's Paris home."

"A Baron's home? Favors already?" Bontecou's feral grin could be seen in the moonlight. "That's what they've been teaching you?"

The Baron was always kind to the Musketeers when there needed to be a delivery to his land. "No, he has daughters." He had young daughters that were often in Paris with their mother and servants.

"Daughters you say?" Bontecou elbowed the closest recruit, Searle. "My you are a climber. Is that why you became a musketeer? So you they could see you in court?"

d'Artagnan held back the biting words as his honor was trampled. "I'm going to investigate." It was an order the recruits should have followed.

"We are going to the tavern." Bontecou led them away from the young musketeer.

Sword out, d'Artagnan treaded down the street. A cat in a darkened alley made him jump, causing him to shake off the nervousness. He lowered his sword, figured that the sound had been nothing until he saw one man at the wall of the Baron's home looking up to see another man going over the stones.

Running, the young musketeer tackled the man on the ground to stun him. The other man descended, then kicked d'Artagnan's side, but with his main gauche he struck at the man underneath him. Pulling his attention away from the dead assailant he turned to deal with the other man. The footsteps could be heard going down the street so d'Artagnan tried to follow, picked up speed even though his side burned from the blow. Eventually, though he was chasing a ghost and decided to return to call the undertaker and then report to Treville.

An exhausted d'Artagnan came into make his report hours later as the dawn was breaking. It had been a long evening and the garrison was preparing for the day. Treville was coming out of his office and saw the Gascon, gestured that he would come to him.

Unfortunately, Bontecou made his appearance with the recruits trailing behind. Taking a deep breath to ignore the angry churning in his stomach to tell the Captain what had occurred.

"You allowed the other one to get away? Why didn't you ask for help? Where were the others?"

"Bontecou-"

d'Artagnan's friends had arrived, but not intervened as they remained listening.

"The boy wanted the glory for himself." Marcel interrupted.

"No, that's not-" The young musketeer took a step forward as he raised his voice. He felt Porthos's put a hand on his forearm and pull him back.

Instead Bontecou moved so that their noses were almost touching. "That's unacceptable. Change you're tone, boy in front of your captain."

Aramis cleared his throat, which at least caused Marcel to step back along with allowing d'Artagnan to focus on Treville. "That is not what happened, Sir."

"He would be punished in my day," Bontecou replied.

It seemed as if Treville had been placed in an unenviable position. No one was standing with d'Artagnan. The recruits had not spoken on his behalf, which left it at his word versus that of the hero of La Rochelle. "You're restricted to the garrison."

"He's young. He'll learn." Bontecou said as he passed Athos to go upon his way.

d'Artagnan wiped a hand down his mouth. "I _did _ask for help, but he-" The Gascon gestured waived his hand at Bontecou.

Athos's expression was grim. "We are set to leave for a mission. I assume you will follow orders while we are away."

The disbelief must have been evident. He had done nothing wrong, but wanted his friend's assistance with righting the matter although he was starting to sober as he realized the status Bontecou held.

"When we return we will speak of this." Aramis gave a nod, which d'Artagnan returned in acceptance.

Still stunned, he watched his friends go into the stable and return with their mounts. The young musketeer decided to go into his room to rest, or if he admitted it to himself, to hide away.

(())

Falling into an uneasy sleep led to d'Artagnan spending far too much time in bed. Getting up, he went through the motions of his duty and he trained, but word had spread about his altercation with Bontecou so he was not being treated kindly.

The recruits were openly disdainful infecting some of the other musketeers who held Bontecou in high esteem.

"Finally left you behind since they've done their job and got you your pauldron. Guess following them around like a puppy works."

"They'll never think of you as an equal.".

He wished he had been allowed to go with his friends as there was comfort in their camaraderie. d'Artagnan was thankful that his punishment was only restriction, which also allowed him to form a plan.

As evening set and the sky filled in with inky blackness and a dusting of stairs, d'Artagnan remained hidden, watched for Bontecou. When the older musketeer appeared d'Artagnan stayed back to follow him.

It was surprising to find himself at the edge of the Court of Miracles. Staying within the darkness where the moonlight did not hit, the Gascon moved closer. Bontecou was talking to another man.

"We begin by asking the merchants to pay for protection against those degenerates in the Court."

"Then everyone will turn against them."

"No need to burn the place to the ground."

"You will have the Musketeers do their part?"

"The Cardinal will stand by his word?"

d'Artagnan wished he could will himself back to the garrison. He had to bring word of Bontecou's deceit, but a moment of doubt crept in. Would Treville believe him? The young musketeer's lapse cost him as Bontecou spied him. d'Artagnan had a duty to the other musketeers and to protect the citizens in Paris.

(())

They could have stretched the mission and traveled at a leisurely pace, but between them there had been an unmentionable need to return to the garrison. It was still early morning when they arrived to hand off their horses to the stable hands to report to Treville.

Athos was brief as the delivery of the letters occurred with no interference.

With the meeting concluded, Aramis turned his concern to their other friend, "And d'Artagnan?"

"We have not mustered yet so he should be in his room."

"Thank you, Sir," Porthos answered to follow the others out towards the young man's room at the garrison.

A quick knock was not answered along with a calling out of d'Artagnan's name so Porthos pushed his friend's aside to carefully open the door.

The room was simple and mostly unadorned since the young Gascon did not have many worldly possessions. Yet, he was missing even though he was restricted.

"His bed has not been slept in." Aramis sat on the bed, scratching his beard as he looked around the room.

"He was ordered to stay at the garrison." Porthos slapped his hat against his thigh.

Athos narrowed his lips. "Our Gascon went to seek justice."

"I will inform the Captain and take the north for my search," Aramis stood up, but Athos grabbed his arm.

"Not a word to anyone else."

(())

Porthos could only hope the others had better luck. After looking in every alley, checking in with merchants and even go into taverns, there had been no sign of d'Artagnan. The thought that the Gascon was missing was starting to cause some worry. The young musketeer had made some accusations against Bontecou, but the young man although hotheaded was not a liar. They had regretted their lack of interference, but felt the time at the garrison would allow d'Artagnan to settle.

The large man would never know what drew him down an alley he thought he had checked, but he walked further down to notice it broke off into a narrow way wide enough for him to fit in. It was dark, but enough light shone in to see a foot and leg.

"d'Artagnan?"

Porthos had to pull the young man up, then drag him out before manipulating the Gascon into his arms to carry. d'Artagnan's chest was rising and falling to confirm he still was alive, although the blood and marks on the younger musketeer put doubt into Porthos's heart for how long he would remain that way.

Running and trying to pick up speed, he hollered at those who tried to get in his way. "I need help!" He yelled as he entered the garrison out of breath. "Find Aramis and Athos!"

His orders were followed. The commotion caused Treville to come out and send for a physician immediately while leading the way to d'Artagnan's room. Porthos was not about to give up his charge just yet.

"We need water and bandages," Treville barked to the nearest musketeer.

They needed to get d'Artagnan cleaned up to see the extent of the damage. Porthos started to undo the ties of the doublet, controlling his fingers from shaking as more vivid bruises could be seen on the young man's torso.

The water was handed to Treville who started to wipe down d'Artagnan's face. "Where's the physician?"

Huffing and puffing a larger man pushed into the room. Both Porthos and Treville gave him room to work. The Captain exited with a nod to other musketeer who was watching the physician and listening for Athos and Aramis's arrival.

The more that was revealed, the more Porthos was sickened. d'Artagnan's face was swollen and bruised to such a degree that it deformed his features. One arm was broken and the other had a deep slash, still bleeding. The young man's torso had sustained a heavy beating with boot prints evident, cracking and breaking multiple ribs. A stab wound was high on his chest, thankfully seeming to avoid internal injuries. The physician's ministrations resulted in the Gascon groaning as his body was jostled.

Galeau, the physician requested more water and rags. When Porthos was returning with the procured items he saw Aramis and Athos rushing in towards him.

"Where is he?" Athos asked, but was already climbing the stairs.

Porthos shook his head. "Wait, you need to know-"

Aramis stopped Athos before he entered d'Artagnan's room.

"We do not know if he can see." Porthos exhaled.

Both Athos and Aramis paled in an instant. With that warning, they entered. Galeau must have sensed the charged air because he moved out to the way to give them men access to their fallen friend as Porthos described how he found him along with the injuries.

"d'Artagnan?" Athos crouched, then got on his knees. "d'Artagnan?"

Porthos could hear Aramis muttering prayers, and physically Porthos added his support, standing shoulder to shoulder with the sharpshooter.

When the injured musketeer groaned, Athos persisted, repeating d'Artagnan's name once more. It was difficult to see if the young man's eyes were opened because of the black bruising. The Gascon started to pant with eyes wildly searching. "Athos?"

"Blink once, d'Artagnan if you can see me." Athos placed a hand on the Gascon's shoulder as it was uninjured as he stood in d'Artagan's line of sight.

"Athos?"

"Listen," the nobleman ordered. "Blink if you can see me."

Porthos and Aramis crowded in. The younger man's eyes watered, but he blinked. He could see Athos.

"Good, that's good." Athos's voice was gruff.

"Athos?"

"Shh. Just rest."

"You'll be fine. We'll take care of this," Aramis reassured, gestured to the physician to return to his patient.

(())

Athos nodded to the door once he was sure Aramis and the physician would take care of d'Artagnan. "Show me where you found him."

They were leaving the garrison when Bontecou stopped them.

"Bontecou." Athos acknowledged, but looked at the man's hands noticing no mark of violence on them.

"Just wanted to check in on the boy." Marcel bowed his head. "He may not like me, but I mean him any ill will."

Athos gave a nod, but Porthos was vocal. "We will find justice for him."

"He'll want it for himself," Athos said in closing to Bontecou with Porthos following behind.

In the alley they could see the evidence of what had happened to their young friend. Multiple men had attacked him, overwhelming him although there seemed to be a bit of swordfight before he had been pressed against the wall. Then they had dragged the boy into the small inlet believing he would not be found.

"Do you think anyone will admit to seeing or hearing anything?"

Looking around the neighborhood, Athos deduced that the people would not cooperate, but still an effort must be made.

They returned with shadows of information to march up the stairs to d'Artagnan's room, finding Aramis and Treville watching over the young man. An oily substance shined his face, which was still swollen and bruised. His nose had been straightened and arm tucked placed on pillows. There was an herbal smell mixed with blood, but d'Artagnan had been cleaned, a white shirt covering the other damage.

"Will he survive?" Athos pulled up a chair.

Treville stood. "If there is any change, please let me know." Porthos took the Captain's abandoned chair.

"Aramis?" Porthos prompted. They had not received an answer.

The sharpshooter scratched his neck. "I don't know. If there is damage inside the body. . ."

The words drifted into silence until there was a knock at the door. No one was there, but three bottles of wine and a tray of food had been left for them. The food was picked at while they watched d'Artagnan breath, then groan and wince, but he did not wake.

Aramis trickled some tea in the Gascon's mouth while Athos massaged the young man's throat so that it was swallowed.

"It's not enough." Athos bent over so his elbows where on his knees. "We should not have left him behind. We should have not have let him endure punishment when there was no clear idea of what had happened."

"We were sent on a mission and returned as soon as possible," Aramis reminded his friend.

Athos was still not accepting, would only if d'Artagnan woke up sound.

(())

Two days passed with the three of them sleeping, eating and remaining in d'Artagnan's room. Aramis prayed as he applied his herbal tonic of chamomile, witch hazel and lavender to d'Artagnan's face to help the bruising. It was lessening to reveal the Gascon's normal features. The stitched cuts were clean.

Captain Treville continued to have food, drink, bandages and water brought to the room on a regular basis so when there was a knock at the door, Aramis expected a similar delivery. Instead it was Dubois pushing himself through the door passed Aramis. Athos and Porthos stood at the intrusion.

"I saw Bontecou meeting with the Red Guard and it looked friendly. Too friendly, if you ask me."

"What are you saying?" Athos's voice was rough as there had not been much talking.

Dubois grimaced. "That maybe we didn't see past the shine."

"Thank you." Aramis escorted the musketeer to the door. "Can you tell the Captain we need to speak to him?"

There was a need to make a plan, but it centered on d'Artagnan's recovery first. They would give the young man some more time to wake to see what he remembered, but in the meantime Bontecou would be carefully spied upon.

Treville gritted his teeth. They had all been made fools of by a man they had trusted.

Speaking of their plan had taken all their attention so it took them a few moments to realize that the moans they had become accustomed became something more.

"Athos?"

It was a repeating whisper, but it brought the men to their knees. Aramis felt tears come to his eyes.

"d'Artagnan, you are safe," Athos placed a hand on the Gascon's head.

They were rewarded when a few blinks led to a more focused gaze.

"'bout time!" Porthos roared and slapped Aramis on the back.

The medic in Aramis got to work, fixing a drink to help d'Artagnan in his recovery as Athos spoke quietly to the young man. Treville had slipped out with a smile on his face, since there was a feeling of hope in the air.

"d'Artagnan, we're going to sit you up so you can drink. Nice and easy." Aramis guided the two men, then Athos maneuvered himself so he was behind the Gascon along with some pillows.

The young man huffed at the change. The sharpshooter gave him some time to recover before setting the cup against the injured man's lips. "Small sips. A little at a time."

"Aramis?"

"Porthos found you hurt in an alley." Aramis explained, not wanting to overwhelm the young man.

"Porthos."

d'Artagnan started to move his unbroken arm towards his face, but Aramis set it back in place. "You were punched in the face-"

Porthos interrupted him. "-a lot, but it's looking better. You'll be back to looking like yourself soon enough."

"Okay." d'Artagnan licked his lips.

The young musketeer shivered, and Athos pulled up the blanket further. "Do you remember what happened?"

It was too early to press, but Aramis understood the need, especially if Bontecou was somehow involved.

"I _tried_. I did _try_." The boy was starting to panic.

"Of course you did." Aramis gestured for Athos to lower the boy more so he could rest.

Porthos helped so that Athos could move out from under the young man. "You fought hard. We know it."

"Just rest," Athos soothed until d'Artagnan finally relaxed and went to sleep.

(())

The next time d'Artagnan awoke it was dark except for the light of one candle.

"Are you with us?" Athos asked trying to get his attention.

Aramis pressed a cup to the young man's lips. "It's some water."

"What do you remember?" Porthos was in the shadows trying not to overwhelm the lad.

The Gascon started mumbling.

They could not touch his face so Athos went for his shoulder. "d'Artagnan we know you fought hard, but we need to know what happened. It's important."

"Of course you fought. Your injuries and your hands speak of this." Aramis lifted the bruised hand.

"I. . .my sword, he took my sword. . ."

The story was slow and halting, but they allowed him to rest after getting an understanding of what had happened. Bontecou was in league with the Red Guards and the Cardinal. They had chased him down, forced some sort of awkward sword fight before Bontecou left him to almost be beaten to death by half a dozen Red Guards.

"I'll kill him." Porthos moved his hands so they looked like they were ready to wrap their hands around Marcel's throat.

"We have to talk to Treville." Aramis mopped d'Artagnan's brow to remove the sweat from the distress.

"While I speak to the Captain, perhaps you can take a look at Bontecou's room." Athos looked pointedly at Porthos.

Porthos grinned. "I will meet you back here."

As they reported to Treville, Porthos came bursting in. "He has d'Artagnan's sword."

"Captain?"

"Perhaps talking to the recruits is in order." "Dubois has already informed me of what he witnessed."

When Bontecou returned to the garrison, the sound of the men in the yard lessened until there was silence and the musketeers moved to the side. Treville came out of his office, Athos, Aramis and Porthos exited d'Artagnan's room with d'Artagnan's sword strapped around Athos's waist.

"Has the boy passed?" Bontecou asked, looking around the blank faces.

"Thankfully, not," Treville answered.

Aramis placed his hands on his hips. "He will recover. d'Artagnan has a most stubborn nature."

"He's also loyal to his brothers," Porthos added with a growl.

Athos withdrew the sword. "Unlike you."

"Me?" Marcel batted the sword away, but Athos returned it so Bontecou withdrew his sword. "I assume this is a lapse of insanity."

Athos tapped the blade as he set out the crimes. "You're planning with the Red Guards and the Cardinal. You tried to murder d'Artagnan, a fellow musketeer."

Bontecou paled, but then lifted his blade. Athos gave a small smile as he got what he wanted- a battle for honor.

It was a well matched swordfight that Porthos relished in telling d'Artagnan about with Bontecou's power and strength against Athos's finesse. The different styles made for an eventful fight, but Athos was the victor when a blow sent Marcel stumbling. Athos held the sword to Bontecou's neck.

"Resign as a musketeer and talk to the Cardinal about serving him in La Rochelle. You are not to set foot in Paris again," Treville ordered.

In another move Athos cut the straps of the paldron so that it fell to the ground.

"Leave the cloak," Aramis reminded him, but Athos made it easier for Bontecou and cut the cord of the cloak.

They watched Bontecou leave looking straight ahead, not meeting the eyes of the other musketeers.

Athos had already turned his back. "What will you tell the king?"

Treville bowed his head. "I will let the Cardinal explain. Bontecou is now his problem."

"Captain, we would like to continue to tend to d'Artagnan for the time being." Aramis requested though they had spoken about it earlier amongst themselves. In addition, for the time being they would make sure that d'Artagnan went on missions with them.

"I will stop in later to check on him," Treville said as a dismissal.

(())

It was two more days until d'Artagnan was more like himself, but still injured and healing. Porthos and Aramis re-enacted the swordfight as Athos's shook his head.

d'Artagnan shifted as it was difficult to find a comfortable position. "I am sorry I missed it."

"You were there in spirit." Athos pointed to the blade that was hanging off of the back of a chair.

d'Artagnan lowered his head. The swelling had gone down significantly, but the bruising was still marring his features. Porthos mentioned that it hurt to look at the younger man. "I did not mean for this to happen."

"Of course you didn't." Aramis with his legs crossed and relaxed as the Gascon was through the worst of his injuries.

"The recruits followed him." d'Artagnan went to touch his face and a look from Aramis had him resting his hands back down.

"When you're a hero then they will follow you blindly, too." Porthos snorted, sitting on the end of d'Artagnan's bed to squeeze his foot.

The young musketeer licked his lips. "That's what the others were saying about me and you three." d'Artagnan looked up. "Like a puppy."

"You're not any puppy that I know." Porthos made a face.

Athos leaned forward. "You showed persistence and fortitude, d'Artagnan, which they lack."

"It is not any musketeer that is able to remain in our company and thrive," Aramis added.

Porthos laughed. "More like survive."

d'Artagnan said nothing, but his sigh was filled with reassurance that he was where he belonged.

The end,


	9. Misting Over

Mist Over

By Tidia

Notes: Thank you so much for those that follow, favorite, review and read. I have a few story ideas that should pop up as I write them and I will be adding to Paris, Texas. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

Being the last man to be named a Musketeer there was the expected hazing until another man was made a Musketeer. D'Artagnan accepted it all, especially since he was the youngest Musketeer. Months had passed, and there was no one taking d'Artagnan's place as the newest due to the fickleness of the King. The tricks were becoming old and inconvenient as was the errand running he was asked to do constantly. He sighed, resolute to make the best of the situation.

As usual when he woke up his boots were missing. D'Artagnan had stopped reacting, which usually led for an earlier return to his shoes. Although the same did not apply to the furniture in his room, sometimes piled to one side, other times important pieces, like his bed could be found in the stable or in the yard, moved while he was away on a mission. Again, he made no fuss, hoping the other Musketeers would tire of the game.

In the meantime, he made his way in stocking feet to breakfast. Athos, Aramis and Porthos entered the garrison with Porthos bringing a bag with him. The Gascon suppressed the groan; the larger man was bringing his laundry, which would require d'Artagnan bringing yet another basket to the laundresses. What had begun as coincidence, the young musketeer bringing his laundry at the same time as the others had now become a duty regardless if d'Artagnan had any dirty clothes, which he did not at this time.

"When you're finished come upstairs." Treville called out to the four men at the table from the balcony before disappearing inside his office once more.

No one noticed his lack of boots, but a mission meant they would be returned to him. It would do no good to have him ride out in his stocking feet.

"You are to deliver this message into the hands of the Duke of Orleans and await a response." Treville passed the sealed envelope with its blue ribbons and wax marker to Athos, who quickly tucked it into his doublet.

"When are we expected to return?" Athos shifted his stance closer to Aramis.

"A week. You leave this morning." The Captain dismissed them for their duty.

At the top of the stair were d'Artagnan's boots. No one was surprised to see them. "I will get some provisions from Serge and meet you in the stables."

Porthos frowned at the bag of laundry at the table and d'Artagnan followed the larger man's line of sight. "I'll run it over to the laundresses while Serge gathers the food."

"Thank you, lad."

The Gascon needed to be quick so his brothers would not be waiting. After speaking with Serge he ran to the laundry. The women knew him by first name.

"I hope you are well," he wished Bridgette, the matron.

She knew him well enough to see he was rushed. "Go on, Charles. These will be delivered to the garrison for Monsieur Porthos."

They were recognizing the clothing items of his friends. He wondered if the threesome would be embarrassed if that knowledge came to light. D'Artagnan ran back, picked up the food from Serge, and made it to the stables where Aramis, Porthos and Athos were packing their saddle bags.

Athos handed d'Artagnan his bags. "Take your time. We will leave when you are ready."

(())

Watchfulness was needed on the popular road to Orleans. Thankfully, the few days journey had inns, which they could stay in, sparing d'Artagnan the menial jobs that went to the newest at the campsite.

"I'm to bed." The opportunity to actually rest was infrequent when in Paris, the inn afforded the luxury that Aramis, Athos and Porthos were under the same roof. No traveling through the streets.

"The evening is young as are you, lad. Stay with us." Porthos waved a deck of cards.

"Let the boy go." Aramis bowed his head. "You do not need him to fleece the good citizenship."

"True." Porthos stood up to find a game to join. "And you're giving your attentions to. . ."

Aramis made eye contact with the woman who had caught his attention. "Yvette."

"We will get an early start." Athos put down the wine he seemed to be nursing, extending each glass longer than usual as he limited his drinking.

Perhaps d'Artagnan enjoyed the rest in the bed too much, but he did not hear when Athos entered the room since he was fast asleep.

In the morning conversation was easy amongst the four men, usually with Aramis starting a story, Porthos continuing it on another tangent and Athos giving them a small grin. It made for an amiable ride.

The occasional race to stretch out the horses and quell their competiveness also broke up the journey.

There was a stretch of land before Orleans of wilderness. If travelers left early enough in the morning then the trip through the woods was completed before the sun had set, but any later then it was either camping in the woods or arriving to Orleans in the night.

"If we push then we will reach Orleans by nightfall," Athos said, slowing his horse to a walk so they could all talk.

Aramis coughed. "Warm bed with a lovely woman."

"Be treated to a meal," Porthos added. D'Artagnan nodded in agreement, thinking about a warm supper.

Athos gave a small smile. "And then on our way in the morning with the reply."

(())

The Duke's attention was needed by his people, and he had been unable to create a response to the King until the early afternoon. This was not an ideal situation.

"Another day?" Aramis asked after clearing his throat as they met in Athos's room, the Duke being generous with accommodations.

However, d'Artagnan knew Athos did not like delays. "No, it is only a sacrifice of a night before there are inns where we can stay." They would try to make up the difference by riding harder.

Dusk started to all, Porthos, who had scouted ahead, led them to a clearing surrounded by oaks that would provide some shelter.

"Aramis needs a fire," Athos announced as they dismounted.

The sharpshooter glared, but was done in by the cough.

"I'll collect some firewood."

D'Artagnan returned with some wood. Porthos and Athos would get the fire roaring, the water skins had been left out, which was the cue for the younger man to fill them.

"He has a fever." Porthos frowned. "I thought you were supposed to have a strong constitution," the larger man teased the sharpshooter.

Aramis huffed. "I'll be fine in the morning." The ill man pulled the blanket up further as he rested against his saddle near the fire, which Athos had built up.

"How about something to drink?" D'Artagnan suggested. The medic kept some herbs with him; surely he carried something that would help him to rest.

"Mint and chamomile," Aramis said after a moment.

They made the tea, which the sharpshooter sipped as the steam wisped off into the night sky as the other sat and had the food that had been packed for them in Orleans. Aramis begged off as he coughed more before settling down to a restless sleep that punctuated each of their turns on the watch.

"His fever's rising. Try to keep him cool." Porthos said when he woke d'Artagnan as they switched places so the other man could rest.

D'Artagnan kept changing the cloth on the sharpshooter's forehead, but the fever remained and Aramis mumbled. The young man added more wood to the fire.

Athos did not have to be awakened when his time for watch arrived. The older man squatted by Aramis, pushing away the damp, sweaty strands. "Influenza. I did not realize it had traveled from Venice."

"Will we remain here?" D'Artagnan asked as he lay down.

Athos sighed, his blue eyes catching the firelight as he looked beyond the woods. "We cannot risk it becoming an epidemic. Get some rest, I will tend to Aramis."

Porthos was coughing when the Gascon awoke; d'Artagnan and Athos shared a look leaving the new musketeer to tend to the horses, set some traps for rabbit and try to fish. They had to prepare if another one of them were falling ill.

When d'Artagnan returned, Athos had convinced Porthos to drink some of the tea from earlier while the younger man cleaned up from breakfast. Aramis was still covered by blankets with a cloth on his head.

"Is he better?"

Athos shook his head.

"Fever's got him. He's got a headache, coughing," Porthos answered before Aramis hissed at him.

"And he wants us to be quiet," Athos added.

Porthos started rubbing his head. "It's not a bad idea."

Athos focused on tending to Aramis while d'Artagnan watched over Porthos as he deteriorated with shivering and a rising fever. The younger man was able to check on the traps, which resulted in a few rabbits that could be made for supper.

They ate earlier than usual, and Athos fell asleep as having been up earlier. D'Artagnan promised to wake him, but as he was about to he noticed the redness to his mentor's cheeks and knew Athos was succumbing to the influenza.

(())

Aramis knew he had lost some time. He felt tired, but woke coughing, being helped to sitting and his back being rubbed. He spat the phlegm that rose to his mouth, then secured the tepid tea with his hands drinking as his cloak was wrapped around his shoulders.

"Better?" D'Artagnan asked, sitting cross legged by the sharpshooter, while the ill man took stock of himself.

The headache was still there, along with the cough, sore throat and fatigue, but the fever was gone. He still felt the sickness, but the worse had passed. "How long?"

"Three days. Your fever broke earlier. I was hoping it was a good sign." The young Musketeer rubbed his eyes.

Aramis heard Porthos's heavy breathing through his mouth, the spied Athos curled up on his other side. "You've been tending to us all?"

D'Artagnan shrugged. "I didn't get sick. Guess being younger. . ."

The sharpshooter snorted in amusement. "Why don't you rest for a bit? I will watch them after you help me up." Aramis did have his own needs to deal with first.

With a firm grip from the Gascon, he was standing, wavering a bit, but then felt grounded enough to shuffle a few steps away. He returned, exhausted, yet restless. "Rest, d'Artagnan."

"There is firewood, some rabbit stew near the fire." The younger man passed him a water skin. "The horses have been looked after, too."

Aramis lifted one hand. "Peace. You did well." In fact, the older Musketeer was impressed although d'Artagnan was looking a bit ragged.

Stifling a yawn unsuccessfully, the Gascon flopped into a spot nearby and closed his eyes while Aramis checked on Porthos and Athos to make sure they continued their fight.

(())

The fever passed next for Porthos and finally for Athos. Since they had been gone longer than expected, it was decided to pack up the camp and make way to Paris. Aramis warning they were still recuperating and could easily slip into sickness once more so they stayed diligent in taking breaks as needed.

D'Artagnan was still sickness free, which forced him more into the role of setting up camp. As the newest Musketeer, he was left with the menial tasks, as was usual in the regiment, but with three of them still recovering he did much more work.

Finally, they returned at the garrison. Athos dismissed them all. "I will speak to Treville and then we can meet tomorrow."

"A warm bed." Porthos sighed. "I may never leave it."

"I agree. I cannot think about anything else," Aramis added.

D'Artagnan gave a small smile. "Will you share it?"

"Not tonight. Not tonight…"

They were all still sore, a leftover from the influenza.

"Tomorrow then," Athos wished them well.

Report delivered to Treville, who assured Athos his team would be allowed time to recover fully, Athos went to his rooms. Taking off his boots and doublet, he drank from the bottle of wine he acquired as he walked to his abode before he too succumbed to his bed and fell asleep.

It wasn't until early afternoon when Athos ventured to the garrison wondering if the others were waiting for him. However, it was Porthos who met him on the Rue Saint Severin.

"Feeling better?"

"Much," Athos answered. "Aramis? D'Artagnan?"

"Aramis was eating when I left the garrison and the lad was still in his room." Porthos kept a brisk pace, showing his health returning.

The older man slipped in on the opposite side of Aramis, who pushed a covered plate over to the other man. "Eat."

Porthos sat next to the sharpshooter, and they waited for Athos to finish. He glanced up to d'Artagnan's room.

"Athos, the boy was tired…" Aramis seemed to know his answer was not enough. They all stood and made their way to d'Artagnan's door. Porthos knocked. To Athos it was a loud sound, enough to awaken a soldier.

Aramis called out. There was still no answer. Athos's concern grew to the point where a well-placed shoulder opened the door. "D'Artagnan?"

The younger man was laying on top of a blanket, shivering with his cloak thrown over him, bunched up as he moved in his sleep.

"Where's his bed?" Aramis went to his knees, placed a hand on the young Musketeer's forehead.

"I can't believe it is still going on." Porthos went towards the door, figuring the other Musketeers had done this.

"All this time and he hadn't said anything?" Aramis gestured for Athos to help lift d'Artagnan while Porthos got the young man's feet. "It's the influenza. Take him to my room."

Once their charge was fully in Aramis's care, Porthos volunteered to rectify the situation with the new Musketeer's room. "I'll sort this out."

"I'm going with you." Athos joined him, not wanting to be in the medic's way, along with feeling useless against the sickness. "I thought it was just the boots," he admitted guiltily. Athos did not miss the fact d'Artagnan was in his stocking feet frequently.

"No harm letting the others have their fun, but he should have slept in a bed after the week spent with us," Porthos said as he sought out the usual ringleader, Joachim.

"Where's d'Artagnan's bed?" Porthos shoved the long haired man who took a step back in reaction.

"In his room? How the hell would I know?" Joachim started to walk away until Porthos reached out and grabbed the back of his doublet, pulling him back.

"It's not there. We know the game you like to play with the new recruits."

Joachim called out to a tall Musketeer leaning against one of the wooden poles. "Bras, did you not return the Gascon's bed?"

The other Musketeer shrugged his shoulders in response.

"Do you know where the bed is?" Athos frowned. Bras was a good Musketeer, unusually quiet.

Bras shrugged again in response.

"Just move a bed from another room." Joachim snorted. "Did the boy send you?"

Athos was trying to keep a grip on his temper as the long fuse was coming to an abrupt end. "D'Artagnan is ill, probably made worse that he didn't sleep in a bed. It all stops."

Joachim snickered before picking food from his teeth, spitting near Athos's feet. "We've all done our time."

"Not this long." Porthos gave another shove. "He keeps his boots and whatever else you have planned. He's a Musketeer."

"You sure about that?" Joachim challenged with a cocked eyebrow. "He's the patron saint of the laundresses with you three. I'm sure you keep him busy when you camp-cooking, firewood, the horses…." Joachim shook off Porthos's grip. "We'll stop, didn't mean for the boy to get sick, but you three aren't so perfect either."

Athos ignored Porthos's pointed glance towards him. It was never their intention to have d'Artagnan do the menial labor, but when they were newly commissioned and among seasoned Musketeers, they had done the same. However, five years ago there were more Musketeers being commissioned. "Find another bed for his room," Athos ordered Joachim as he turned to return to Aramis's room with Porthos following.

"We need to talk," Porthos said as he caught up to the older man.

As much as Athos hated to communicate, they needed to talk about d'Artagnan.

(())

When d'Artagnan was able to pry his eyes open after much effort he was greeted by a darkened room which added to his lethargy in his limbs. His chest and back were sore, he moved to get comfortable, not too much as he saw Porthos was by his bed.

As his eyes adjusted a little more he saw two beds had been brought in. The damp cloth fell off his forehead as he turned his head. This was not his room.

Last he remembered he fell asleep on the floor, probably explaining his sore back, with the thought to find his bed in the morning. The young Musketeer's head ached too much to continue thinking. Instead he accidently moaned, bringing Porthos's attention to him.

"D'Artagnan, you're awake." Porthos was quickly alert and his voice loud enough to bring the attention of the two other men.

"Have him drink," Aramis stated as he placed a hand on d'Artagnan's forehead. "Fever has gone down."

"How do you feel?" Athos asked crowding into the space as Porthos lifted a cup to his lips, which the young man drank from greedily.

D'Artagnan paused. "Tired. You are all well?"

Aramis nodded. "We are recovered and you will soon be. The worst is over. Sleep some more."

It was a good suggestion. D'Artagnan closed his eyes and fell asleep once more.

The next time he awoke it was daytime and the young Musketeer felt more alert. Looking around the room, only Aramis was there concentrating on the book in his hands. "Where are the others?"

The sharpshooter gave him a warm smile. "Talking to Treville and then returning with some food."

D'Artagnan nodded at the explanation. "How long?"

"This is the morning of the third day. You look better." Aramis helped him to sit up, placed an extra pillow behind his back then helped him to drink a brewed hot tea.

The younger man relaxed against the pillows. "Why am I not in my room?"

"Perhaps because you need a bed to sleep in," the medic questioned as he took the seat beside the bed, waiting for d'Artagnan to answer.

However, the answer was delayed as Porthos and Athos returned with a tray.

"Your bed situation has been rectified," Athos said as way of a greeting.

D'Artganan winced. They were obviously disappointed in him for being unable to tolerate the teasing of the Musketeers. "Oh. That's good."

"The Captain sends regards." Porthos set the tray down on the table.

Thankful for the change in topic, d'Artagnan grasped it. "No one else is ill?" After all Aramis had been concerned they contain the illness.

Athos glanced at the sharpshooter, remained standing." No, although Treville would like you to fully recuperate."

"Can I return to my room?" He knew what to expect with the duration of the influenza along with being surrounded by his own small comforts.

"Yes, now that there is a bed." Athos had not forgotten about that situation. He clasped his hands behind his back. "Why did you not tell us that the other Musketeers were playing tricks on you?"

Twisting a bit to find a bit more comfort against the pillows until d'Artagnan discovered there was no relief to be found. "It was of no concern, and I was informed this always happened to the newest in the regiment."

"Not this long." Porthos growled, passing some bread to Aramis who placed it in d'Artagnan's hands as he added,

"We have also been abusing your state."

D'Artagnan was confused. "You have?"

"The laundry, the duties at camp…made you do a brunt of the work." Porthos crosses his arms over the black leather doublet, closing of any disagreement.

Athos took a seat at the table. "That's going to change."

The look of puzzlement on his face caused Aramis to clarify, "We will share the work equally. Though Porthos is best at cooking."

"And you must think you are best at finding the game?" Porthos teased his friend.

"Well Athos is always saying that my silver tongue has to have some use…" Aramis quipped.

Exhaustion was starting to settle in once more allowing d'Artagnan to sink further into the pillows holding him up. "You may want to send Aramis to talk to Bridgette. She will worry when she sees me less."

"Bridgette?" Aramis's interest was piqued.

D'Artagnan forced a grin as he thought about Bridgette taking the sharpshooter to task. "She's quite familiar with all of your linen. She's the laundress."

"Is Bridgette attractive?"

Athos interrupted the discussion. "No more, d'Artagnan. If you feel you are being taken advantage of then please tell us."

"I will. Now can I go back to my room?" The young Musketeer whined, but Aramis would only release him once he ate some food. The full stomach lulled d'Artagnan back to sleep.

(())

Aramis agreed that d'Artagnan could recover in his room after he had been assured by the tricksters the bed had been returned and the room arranged accordingly.

Porthos opened the door and chuckled before the others entered behind him.

"That's not my bed."

The young Musketeer's mouth was open as the opulent four poster bed, the gold leaf applied as trim was too shiny for the usually nondescript standard garrison room. The size of the bed was larger than the one that it replaced, but thankfully the bed did not look like that of the king or queen.

"It looks like one of the beds from the palace," Aramis stepped around the divan to see if he could recognize the origins.

Porthos still had a grin as he sat on the bed, bounced on it a bit before gesturing for d'Artagnan to sit down. "They wouldn't. Would they?"

Athos frowned, then rubbed a hand over his forehead. "How?"

The sharpshooter vowed he would convince their leader to remain silent. There was no need to reveal this to Treville at his moment. "No matter. It is here now."

"And very comfortable." D'Artagnan lay across the feathered mattress, sinking in slightly.

It was a well-deserved ending.


	10. Behold New Things

Title: Behold New Things

Disclaimer: This is an AU of the thought that d'Artagnan went home with his father's body and this set a new course for Gascony. But, Musketeers BBC version is not mine.

Notes: Thank you so much for those who have liked my Musketeer stories, chose them as favorites and reviewed.

* * *

"Athos."

D'Artagnan looked to the back of the wagon, his father's body wrapped in oiled leather. The young man's eyes burned with the tears that would not fall; instead they were locked in his throat as he thought about his father's last word.

As much as he wanted to get justice for his father, d'Artagnan's duty was to return to Lupiac, mourn his father, and inform the others of the mission's failure.

His father had been a leader, a voice of reason against a mounting rebellion in Gascony. Too many people had to make choices- go hungry or pay taxes. Alexandre had volunteered to speak to the King, convince Louis his people were suffering.

Building in d'Artagnan's heart was the realization the Gascons would find another way, one his father would not have approved.

(())

"Why not send the Red Guards?" Athos asked as he heard Treville's orders to head to Gascony with Aramis and Porthos.

The Captain narrowed his eyes, wrinkles showing a little deeper. "The Cardinal wants to start a war to bring the Gascons in line."

Porthos glanced at Athos and Aramis. "A civil war? Why?"

Battles and fighting the Huguenots within France's borders was bad enough, another civil war would be brutal. It would leave the country weak for Spain or Austria to invade.

"He wants his taxes. But, I was able to convince the King to allow the Musketeers to be emissaries." Treville rubbed his stubble with the back of his hand.

"It would not have anything to do with your background?" Aramis teased as it was known the Captain was from Gascony and held an estate there. It was little used, as the Captain's time off was rare.

Treville ignored any conversation about his past. "The King wants to know why the taxes have decreased and what the Duke has to say on the matter."

"We leave in the morning?" Porthos confirmed.

"Yes."

(())

The ride to Gascony was long and uneventful, which led to tension once they entered the borders of the region. The trio did not know what to expect as the Cardinal could have exaggerated a situation where taxes were involved, but the grotesque man hanging in a tree, bloated and blue from days had them vigilant.

"Eh, I thought they're farmers in these parts?" Porthos's horse shied away.

Athos cocked his head and looked into the sunlight. "Perhaps not."

"Do we make way for an inn or make camp?" Aramis turned so he did not have to see the hanging man.

As dusk neared they made camp amongst some French oaks lumbering some shade in the spring night. Deciding quickly the guarding shifts with Aramis first, then Athos to end with Porthos.

As usual, Aramis set out to clean one musket, leaving one available. Stretching his legs to walk the perimeter, he stopped, believing he saw movement. "Attack!" Aramis yelled out to wake his friends, they started, but it was too late for the Musketeers to counter as they were surrounded.

A tall figure stepped forward with a musket in one hand and a sword in the other. "Please, put down your weapons."

Athos did not surrender, his sword held steady, keeping the attackers at bay. "We are Musketeers, the King's men; an attack against us is an attack against the King."

"We have no plans to hurt you." The tall figure moved his head. It made Aramis notice his youthfulness.

Porthos snorted, lunged forward, which caused the aggressors to back up a step, then crowd in once more. They were too many of them. "Prisoners? Soldiers don't make good hostages, lad."

"Or do you mean to cut off our heads?" Aramis was pinned against a tree, but he still remembered the bloated figure hanging by a rope.

The young man stood straighter, more menacing as the Musketeers grumbled. "The Cardinal sent LaBarge to force us to pay our taxes."

"As citizens of France taxes are an obligation." Athos, as always, remained calm. His sword caught the moonlight until he lowered it slightly.

"So citizens should expect their homes to be burned and women to be raped when they don't have enough money to pay?" It was a voice from behind the sharpshooter that answered this time.

Aramis turned his head. "No." The medic swallowed. The Cardinal was despicable and not for the first time the sharpshooter wondered when God would catch up to the First Minister to smite him.

The same man seemed satisfied that the Musketeers had reached a new understanding. "Are you here to see the Duke?"

"Is he well?" Athos asked, lowering his sword.

"Yes." The young man nodded, gestured for the weapon to be handed to him.

Athos acquiesced and the others followed suit. Their hands were tied, but they were not handled roughly as they were mounted on their horses.

"We will take you to him." Each horse was led by the attackers. They would go for now to see the Duke and try discover more about their Gascon captors.

(())

D'Artagnan was leading the group back to the Duke's home where they had all taken refuge. A council had been created to govern the area. Favre, one of the three members was waiting for them at the late hour. He was always one to worry when patrols were sent out. "We found them in the woods." D'Artagnan gestured to the three Musketeers who had been brought into the entry.

Favre crossed his arms over his worn vest. "Musketeers? Is the King preparing to attack us?"

"We came to check on the Duke." The one who they had come upon first spoke, though d'Artagnan figured he was not the leader.

Favre nodded. "Follow me and someone will be sent to wake the Duke."

They headed to the great room where the tapestries still hung, but tables had been brought in to cover the floor where balls had taken place. Favre gestured for the Musketeers to sit down, while d'Artagnan and his men remained standing.

The Duke of Gascony came in moments later. Although disheveled; he had taken the time to put on breeches, boots and a doublet.

"His Majesty sends his regards. I am Athos. This is Aramis and Porthos." The Musketeer stood, bowed his head in greeting.

The name reverberated in d'Aragnan's mind. He lifted his sword, once belonging to his father and strode to the leader of the Musketeer trio, pointing the blade at his chest. "Athos?"

The other men circled around d'Artagnan, but Favre placed his hand on the blade. "Whoa, calm. Sword away, d'Artagnan. That's enough."

Yet, the young man was unwilling to follow the order. "You're name is Athos?"

Athos remained still. "Yes."

D'Artagnan felt the weight of his father's death once more along with the intensity of all eyes on him. "You killed my father, Alexandre d'Artagnan. Your name was his last word."

The Musketeer did not waver, either not fearing death or welcoming it. "We don't take names when we are forced to do our duty."

"Duty? He was farmer on his way to speak to the King." The young man's rapier remained on the breast of the Musketeer about to pierce the cloth.

"When was this?" The one identified as Aramis drew attention. D'Artagnan answered; the third month anniversary had just passed.

"It was not him." Porthos stepped forward, brushing off those who would restrain him. "We were in Orleans."

"Treville, our Captain can vouch for us. He's from here," Aramis added.

"Jean Armand Treville?" Favre asked and Porthos nodded in response.

"Musketeers are honorable. They are speaking the truth," the Duke said nervously. "Favre, please."

"D'Artagnan, that's enough. There is something more that is going on here." Favre gripped the young man's hand. They believed the Musketeers. It was confusing-why would Musketeers be thieves? Why did Athos give his name? More than ever, d'Artagnan wished his father was still alive providing clarity.

Pulling away from the grip, d'Artagnan stormed out of the room to think about his father, revenge and the truth.

(())

After the eventful meeting they were given a room to rest. Finally alone, Porthos lay on the cot, hands behind his head. "Now what?"

"The Duke's safe. Should he be escorted to Paris?" Aramis answered, sitting at the edge of another bed.

Athos walked around the room, attempting to settle. Porthos had seen this before of his friend especially when denied access to wine. "I do not believe they will allow the Duke to leave."

"He's a well-tended hostage," Porthos commented. Prisoners were not allowed to sleep in their room, allowed their comforts and fed properly.

Athos gave the resting Musketeer a nod. "We will find out more tomorrow."

Porthos sat up just as Athos froze and Aramis stood up. The lock was being turned, the door unbarred to allow d'Artagnan, the young man who had accused Athos of killing his father, to enter.

"Why would someone use your name?" The Gascon asked without preamble.

Athos acknowledged the young man with a tilt of a head. "I have no idea, but I plan to find out."

"It is worrisome. We do not know how far this has gone. If there have been other killings in Athos's name." Aramis patted Athos on the shoulder.

"Glad you believe us, lad." Porthos thought it showed honor. Although they were investigating for the King, they could still form their own opinions. For so many Gascons to stand up and fight, then there had to be something wrong.

D'Artagnan crossed his arms. "I don't know what to believe." He hadn't stepped too far into the room. "Once this is done, then I will have my revenge."

"When will that be?" Aramis asked with a lifted brow towards Porthos in amusement.

The young man stood straighter, belief in his cause evident. "When the King decides to hear us. We bleed to pay our taxes. We rather bleed to fight for our land, our people."

Porthos glanced at his friends. The King was not one to react well to threats or demands, not knowing how to handle them.

"What of the Duke?"

D'Artagnan shrugged his shoulders at Athos. "He supports us, especially after LaBarge was sent."

"If you don't get your hearing?" Porthos could see that happening. The Cardinal would handle the matter with unequivocal violence as he had done with the Huguenots.

"Then we side with Spain." D'Artagnan went towards the door giving it a knock. "Favre will discuss this with you in the morning."

The boy left leaving them in the room staring at each other. "Thought this would be a ride in the country. Never knew farmers could be so dangerous," Porthos said. These men were driven like the Musketeers were in their duty. "This isn't going to be pretty."

(())

Athos did not know how it came about that d'Artagnan was joining them in their ride to Paris. The Duke and Favre insisted as well as the council. They had a plan, in agreement with the Duke, who was participating in this rebellion, trying to keep it peaceful. The Gascons wished to remain French citizens, but not with unbearable taxes. Spain had offered protection, it was near and a part of Gascon dialect.

"You do have a trusting spirit." Aramis broke through Athos's reverie as they road.

D'Artagnan rode beside Porthos. The boy had accepted the council's choice quietly, which Athos believed bellied the fervor inside. "I would not say that."

"You are riding back to Paris with us," Athos pointed out.

Porthos gave the young man a sidelong glance. "The King may want you dead."

"Will you avenge my father; find who is using your name?" D'Artagnan was directing this to Athos. He nodded in agreement, unable to bear someone killing in his name, bringing dishonor to the Musketeers.

"Good. I could say _you_ have a trusting spirit. I could kill you in the night." The Gascon smiled at Porthos.

The large man laughed. "You don't seem the type."

"We will try to prevent your imprisonment." Athos was worried. The King could be brash, urged by the Cardinal in the importance of taxes and consolidated power of the throne. The only hope was the temperance of the Queen or the willingness of Louis to listen.

D'Artagnan seemed willing to be the sacrifice. As Athos understood it, the young man and his father had been entrusted to speak with the King. Having failed with a steep personal loss to d'Artagnan, he was seeking justice, believed it still existed. "As long as our terms are heard. If not, then Gascony becomes part of Spain."

"You are all willing to do this?" Athos was surprised by this decision of the council, and wondered how they would enforce it.

The young man nodded in affirmation.

"_Stubborn Gascons_," Athos muttered under his breath.

"What if you succeed and there's peace?" Aramis asked, coming astride having listened in on the conversation.

D'Artagnan gripped his reins enough that his gloves squeaked. "Avenge my father and if I survive then return to the farm."

"If you survive?" Porthos groused. They were now riding four across, but Athos slowed them to a walk.

The newcomer squared his shoulders, then hardened his face as if he had been offended. "I'm willing to die."

"That won't happen," Athos dismissed the sentiment as the passion of youth.

D'Artagnan flinched as if there had been a physical blow. "No matter, I failed my father and Gascony."

Athos could feel Aramis and Porthos's glare on him, but he was not about to break the silence. It was not in his ability to change the boy's purpose. His job was to defend King and country, which at this point meant to deliver d'Artagnan to Louis then clear his name. The nobleman could not allow someone to continue to besmirch his name, murder innocents.

It was difficult, but they asked d'Artagnan to return to the inn where his father had been murdered. Athos stepped forward to speak to the innkeeper, who informed them the bodies had been burned. The clothing and belongings, however, were in storage in the barn.

"These are Musketeer uniforms," Aramis said as he lifted them.

"There are a few holes in that." Porthos put his fingers through the doublet.

Athos frowned. "How many times did you shoot?"

"Just the once." D'Artagan swallowed. "What does this mean?"

Aramis licked his lips. "Cornet and the others…"

"Bastards," Porthos growled as he folded up the doublet, then stuffed it in the leather sack.

"There are some missing Musketeers. We worry they have fallen." Athos looked off into the distance wondering where their bodies lay and who was behind the attack.

"We were right to worry." Aramis shivered, then pulled himself back.

Athos started to pack up the uniforms. "We'll talk to Treville." This news was unexpected as was the direction of the investigation. Athos did not know what they were proving.

In Paris, before stopping at the palace, the inseparables brought d'Artagnan to meet Treville.

The Captain was on the deck outside his office, then gestured for them to follow him inside where he leaned against his desk. Athos explained the situation succinctly while Aramis and Porthos remained in the corner, pushing d'Artagnan forward at the right time in the story.

The boy bowed his head. "Monsieur Favre said you were to be implicitly trusted, Captain."

"You're Alexandre's son?" Treville eyed the young man.

D'Artagnan nodded before finding his voice once more. "Yes, I was. He's recently passed."

"There's more to it," Porthos added, which caused the Captain to wave his hand prompting Porthos to continue on until he concluded with, "Athos's name is involved."

Treville rubbed his chin, pushing off from the desk to move behind it. "I've heard rumors. There is some plan against you."

"It involves the others. We found their uniforms." Athos was growing uneasy. "We promised d'Artagnan safe passage to speak to the King about Gascony."

Treville nodded and led the way out of his office. "We will do our best."

(())

D'Artagnan did not know where to rest his eyes as they made their way through the palace to the throne room. The structure itself was larger and more gleaming than anything he had ever seen. He felt very much the son of a farmer as he followed the Musketeers, keeping up their hurried pace.

Treville announced him and his purpose before ceding the floor to the young man. The King looked bored with the Queen paying him some attention, but it was the Cardinal in his red robe attempting to burn a hole in him with his eyes.

Told to speak from the heart to present their case, d'Artagan started to explain how his neighbors did not have enough to eat. Immediately, he was interrupted by Richelieu.

"They killed the tax collector!"

As much as the young man wanted to control his temper, he thought of Marie and what she had suffered. "Labarge burned down our homes and raped a girl after killing her family. He got the justice he deserved by my hand."

The Cardinal pointed to the younger man. "He admits it! He should be tried for treason. Arrest him."

The Red Guards moved in doing as the Cardinal asked until Athos pulled him away while Treville defended the Gascon.

"Your Majesty, in your name the Musketeers guaranteed his safety."

The King tried to be effective mediator, but tended to side more often with the First Minister. "He will be safe, Captain in the chatelet." Louis moved his fingers. "The tax collectors are also protected by the crown."

D'Artagnan, in his wisdom, did not fight back as he was led out of the throne room. He was dejected. All avenues had failed and Gascony would join Spain for protection. He would die and be with his father in eternal rest.

(())

D'Artagnan was wallowing. The reality of the situation of being locked in the chatelet meant the window was too high, the room too small and his fellow prisoners reeked. Pacing led to him to climbing the grate that held him until he was yelled by the guards. Once they returned to ignoring him, he would climb again; afraid stillness would bring about his death that much earlier.

Night fell as the young man huddled in a corner, his eyes on the other men as if they would attack him. In a twilight sleep, he started when a hand came through the grate to cover his mouth.

"Time to leave," Aramis whispered, waiting until d'Artagnan acknowledged him before dropping his hand.

Porthos was waiting by the door. Quietly the Gascon stepped to freedom and was led by the Musketeers through a side passage. There was Athos, holding the horses steady.

"We are to Gascony. The Cardinal has sent the Captain of the Red Guard to bring Gascony to heel." Athos mounted as did the others.

They made their way through the gates with d'Artagnan in the middle of the group. Riding hard, there was no time to talk until they had to give the horses some time to rest.

"What has happened?" D'Artagnan asked as they walked their horses in the moonlight.

Athos passed a water skin to the young man. "Gaudet has been impersonating me, his other men as Musketeers."

"They mean to bring Gascony to heel. Don't they?" D'Artagnan thought he would be ill. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Porthos patted him on the back. "Lad, he's not that far ahead of us. We can stop them."

"There are only four of us." D'Artagnan patted his horse before he mounted once more. He needed to be with his people.

Aramis also mounted. "The others are coming. Treville always finds a reason." The sharpshooter bowed his head towards Athos. "A little faith may be warranted."

As they rode, trying to make up time, but keeping the horses on the edge of exhaustion, d'Artagnan thought of where the attack would happen. The Duke was on their side, which put the manor house at risk. Yet, although they were farmers, his friends and neighbors had prepared to do battle, wishing it would never come to pass.

(())

Porthos scouted ahead as they knew they had made up some time to take the Red Guards unaware. Watching as he laid on the ground hidden by shrubbery he could see Gaudet and his accompaniment in their Musketeer uniforms.

It seemed there had been no attack as of yet. Silently, he backed away as he tried to overhear their conversation with limited success to return back to where his friends were waiting. "They haven't gone after the manor."

"I can still warn them." The young Gascon stood up from the grassy camp to get to his horse.

"Wait. We need their help." Athos stopped the lad and explained what he wanted d'Artagnan to do.

Porthos glanced at Aramis who grinned. It was a good plan, one that would exonerate Athos and the Musketeers. "They need to stay alive." The taller man decided to remind d'Artagnan before he headed out.

Although Athos was humble, he was an amazing strategist, book learned that mirrored the way Porthos understood the ways of the streets of Paris. The three of them surrounded the Red Guards lying in wait for the dawn.

When the fighting started, it was thick although they had the advantage of surprise, which evened the numbers as it was four to one. The goal of keeping the false Musketeers alive was the issue until the Gacons joined the fight with d'Artagnan leading the way dismounting before his horse stopped.

"Gaudet!" D'Artagnan hacked away, forgetting Athos's edict, luckily the other Gascons were taking care.

The Captain of the Red Guards turned as his name was uttered just as the field of combatants was thinning. Porthos had already restrained two Red Guards, while Aramis had done the same. Athos had one guardsman at his feet while fighting another one as Gaudet pulled away to meet d'Artagnan.

It was not a fluid fight as Porthos was accustomed to seeing from Aramis or Athos, but the sword work showed some mastery and significant potential.

"You killed my father."

"Really. He did not leave an impression." Gaudet spat.

That taunt was sufficient to give d'Artagnan the edge.

"We need him alive!" Athos yelled too late as Porthos witnessed the death strike.

Panting hard, d'Artagnan wiped his eyes. His friends gave him space, but he squared his shoulders as he walked to Athos. "I am sorry," he said between breaths.

Athos reached out and squeezed the young man's shoulder.

"We have enough of them alive and I'm sure they'll cooperate." Porthos growled to ease the young man's worry.

(())

Athos had to convince the Gascons and d'Artagnan to take the risk to go to Paris with the false Musketeers.

Treville stood with his men and four Gascons explaining what had happened to the King and Queen.

"Renegade Red Guards? Cardinal, this is most unexpected." Louis waited for his First Minister to make a retort, but the man held firm to his silence with a frown.

The Musketeer Captain took it as an opportunity to continue, "d'Artagnan was instrumental in bringing down Gaudet and his men."

Athos pushed the boy forward, placing a hand on the small of his back to be reassuring. D'Artagnan fidgeted nervously a moment before stilling again.

The King sighed. "I am disappointed, Cardinal. Gascony has suffered and so they are to receive a special dispensation from the treasury to lower the taxes." Louis gestured for the Cardinal to come closer. "I cannot have my people suffering."

"A wise decision of a benevolent King," the Cardinal agreed.

Athos gave a pointed look to Treville. "And d'Artagnan? You had sent him to the chatelet, Sire even though he has only showed loyalty to France."

Louis glanced at the young Gascon at Athos's words. "Set him free, Captain. I believe this matter is settled."

"Thank you, Sire," d'Artagnan answered with a smile that his fellow Gascons also had on their faces.

They left the palace, using the garrison as the place for them to part. Porthos and Aramis were speaking to the other Gascons while Athos stood next to d'Artagnan whose eyes kept darting around the practice yard.

"You are returning to Lupiac," Athos said. Porthos and Aramis had voiced their opinion to him that the boy would be a good recruit. They were willing to provide sponsorship.

D'Artagnan brought his attention back to the older man. "Yes, I would like to honor my father's wishes and continue at the farm." His hand rested on his sword in a soldier like stance.

"Your father sounds like a good man. Is there any chance he would want a different life for you?" Aramis and Porthos had broken away, listening in on the conversation while Treville kept the guests entertained.

Porthos clapped the boy's back. "Like a Musketeer life?"

D'Artagnan blinked as if removing the confusion. "I never thought about it."

Athos gave the boy a head nod. "You should. You would still honor your father if you pursued another career."

The Gascon nodded and went to join his friends who were making on leaving as Jacques had their mounts ready for them. D'Artagnan patted his horse, then turned away, striding back towards the inseparables.

"I will return. I need to put the farm in order, but I will return to Paris."

Athos shook the boy's out stretched hands as Aramis clapped his arm and Porthos squeezed his other arm. Soon the three would become four.

The end


	11. The Home Front

Title: The Home Front

**Warning: Death of a female character**

Notes: This is inspired by a story my grandmother told and so I said, 'what if...' and this is what came of it. Thank you for those following, reading, reviewing and favoriting. I am amazed that people read my tangents of thoughts. Thank you.

* * *

They stood with hats in their hands as they fidgeted by the doorway. No one had made an effort to knock yet as once the door opened there would be a permanence they could no longer deny. However, they were noticed as Constance swept the door open, Alex her ever present shadow clung to her skirt.

Always a smart woman she noticed their demeanor and missing husband."D'Artagnan?"

When they did not answer her eyes filled. "Please?" She choked.

"Constance-" Aramis bundled her into his arms while Alex pulled his mother's skirts.

Porthos reached out to the toddler. "Climb up, Lad." The boy smiled as he leveraged himself to make it to the large man's back.

"Port!" Alex exclaimed. "Go like pony," he ordered oblivious to what was happening and who he had lost.

The large man did as he was asked and galloped into the sitting room where Athos and Aramis had forced Constance to sit.

"What happened?" There were tears still, but some calming.

Athos looked in the distance, shook his head then brought his blue eyes to rest on Constance. "The fighting was thick and we were separated. I…We tried to get to him."

"The Spanish overtook him." Aramis was sitting by Constance's side.

Constance gripped her hands and brought them to her chest as if she was praying. "He could be a prisoner. He's still alive. I know it."

"We saw him fall." Porthos interrupted the ramblings.

They saw d'Artagnan swarmed by the Spanish, fighting, faltering until he was enveloped. When they had regrouped with reinforcements all the bodies had been cleared- Spanish and French gone.

"Papa? Where's Papa?" Alex pulled Porthos's hair.

Aramis gave a watery smile. "And the Spanish are not known for treating their prisoners…"

"We looked for him. I couldn't spare any more men…" Athos choked on his last words and went silent as his voice evaporated.

Constance nodded, then took in a gasping breath. "What am I going to do without him? I love him. I want him back."

"Where's Papa?" Alex started crying when no one answered him.

(())

They visited as much as possible, providing support as did the Queen with allowing Constance to serve with an ample salary beyond her position. Aramis felt the calling to the priesthood a year later with promises to write and visit. Porthos remained as Athos's Lieutenant. It was under the larger man's watchful eyes he saw the growing feelings between his Captain and Constance.

Porthos gave them alone time as much as possible. It seemed the Queen also supported this idea and often had Athos escort Constance on her business. Aramis had been informed. In fact, Porthos was concerned about d'Artagnan's memory. The priest encouraged the match; their fallen friend would have wanted only the best for Constance. D'Artagnan would have approved as Athos being the best man for his widow.

(())

It was Athos who was slow to understand his attraction and feelings. Mourning together and keeping d'Artagnan's memory alive had moved to companionship, sharing the events of the day.

"Pere, I want to see." Alexandre pulled on Athos's leg as the older man went ashen, taking a step back instead of taking the child up on his shoulders as the four year old wanted from his father.

"Constance, I did not mean…" Athos did not want to replace d'Artagnan as Alexandre's father. He was watchful of the boy and cared for him.

The widow brushed a hand through her son's hair. "Shhh. I know. Truly, there is not a better man. When he is older he will understand. We'll explain it to him."

We. They. There was a future with Constance and Alexandre that Athos had never seen, believing he was honoring his friend by watching over d'Artagnan's wife and son. However, they were a family, an unintentional one, but created nonetheless from adversity. Athos felt a little embolden and took a step into Constance's space with Alex on his shoulders happy with his view.

She cocked her head and gave a shy smile. "D'Artagnan had begged me to show courage. Do we continue as friends or something more?"

"Would you accept something more? I am not d'Artagnan. I will never be. My vices are too great, but I would do my best." Milady was reported as dead, and Athos considered it true allowing him to freely marry.

Constance knew his faults, his past. She looked up at Alexandre and answered with a smile. "I accept."

(())

A found cloak, worn but still serviceable boots, and almost five years later d'Artagnan made his way into Paris. His first inclination was to go to see his beloved Constance, which he dismissed as too presumptuous. His next thought was the garrison, but there was doubt there on what he would find so instead he found a room where he started to make some inquiries on his friends.

D'Artagnan did not know how he survived the news. Perhaps it was the numbness that came over him or the innate will to survive. He would not die of a broken heart just as he did not die from captivity in a Spanish prison.

Spying, he saw Constance with his strapping boy Alexandre and another child tied to her skirts while her belly had the swell of another baby. Athos's children, the Captain of the Musketeers was father to Alexandre and married to Constance.

There was anger at the unfairness of it all. Despair at the quiet happiness he saw between the two as Athos came home to _kiss his wife _before giving his attention to his adoring son and daughter with another on the way. D'Artagnan's life had been interrupted then taken over by his best friend, brother in arms.

Five years was a long time to hope for d'Artagnan's return. He learned that Porthos was still in the city, married to Alice and occasionally helping the Musketeers although he had retired a year ago. D'Artagnan determined a written missive was appropriate as a start to set up a meeting.

Porthos was waiting for him at the Swan earlier than the arranged meeting time. Although the five years in captivity had not been kind to the Gascon, Porthos recognized him immediately and did not relinquish his hug until d'Artagnan complained about the inability to breathe.

"You know, don't ya?" Porthos sat down, his clothes now that of rich merchant, less of a soldier.

D'Artagnan nodded; of course his friend understood the circumstances. "I've seen them. They haven't seen me. I think I need to keep it that way."

Surprisingly, Porthos did not disagree. "It's not fair to you, lad, but I don't see another way that doesn't cause too much hurt for everyone. Constance can't have two husbands and they have two children. . ." Porthos puttered off. "Is Aramis going to be told?" He used the wine glass to gesture.

"I'd like to visit him." D'Artagnan had determined at least two of his friends needed to know, especially if he wanted to be kept apprised of Alexandre and Constance.

Porthos nodded; seemingly relieved he was not the sole secret keeper. "What are you going to do?"

D'Artagnan poured himself another glass. "Stay away from Paris. I will go to Venice. My mother was Venetian and taught me some of the language that's similar to Spanish." He drank a large gulp trying to get the taste of disappointment and regret to leave him at what being a soldier had cost him. "If ever Alexandre, Constance or Athos need me, then I ask you to tell me. Maybe someday I can be reunited with them. What news can you tell me of Alex and what news of you?"

Porthos told d'Artagnan about his headstrong, spitting image son whom they spoiled, but was still good hearted. It was everything a father would want to hear about his son, and d'Artagnan was thankful that Athos had stepped in. "She mourned you. We all did. It was you that brought Athos and Constance together. We thought you would approve, smile down on them is what Aramis said." Porthos reached out to put his hand over d'Artagnan's resting one. "You haven't been forgotten."

(())

Twelve years after d'Artagnan appeared at the monastery, Aramis did not expect to see him again in these circumstances, hidden in the distance at Constance's funeral while Athos and the children mourned her by the grave.

Returning with Athos back to the home he shared with Constance, Aramis was grateful that Alice had taken the children to visit the palace. "Athos, can you sit for a moment?"

"Where are Simone and Charles?" Athos sat in the chair with exhaustion, only noticing that his children were not by his side as they had been attached to him the whole week. Seventeen year old Alexandre remained, trying to be stoic and failing with his red rimmed eyes.

"They are with Alice and Henri," Porthos reminded him that they had gone off with his wife and son. "Brother, we have a matter to discuss with you."

Athos roughly put his hand through his graying hair. "Can it wait?"

The priest wondered if Athos would crawl into a bottle once more. Constance had been a strengthening force to the Captain of the Musketeers. Aramis pressed on,"Towards the end when Constance's health was fading I send a letter to Venice." Aramis gestured to Porthos to the entrance where d'Artagnan was waiting. "The letter was answered in person, but too late."

Athos looked up from his slumped position. "I don't understand." It had been a short illness with Constance fading quickly.

"I sent the letter to d'Artagnan." Aramis let his words settle for a moment. "Twelve years ago he made his way back from hellhole of Spain. He found you and Constance married with children and decided it was best if he remained dead."

The Captain was startled, but looked to his adopted son as if to provide comfort. "Alex, why are you not surprised?"

Porthos, and Aramis from afar, were doting uncles, but they had made the decision to tell the boy on his fifteenth birthday. They had arranged a small adventure away from Paris and there gave him the letters his father had been writing to him, which Aramis was safekeeping. "My uncles told me the truth of it all two years ago. We've been writing. Pere, he's here to pay his respects."

Athos stood up, still with a slump of mourning about it, but with some determination. "Let him in."

Porthos escorted d'Artagnan into the room. Still in his traveling clothes and eyes shimmering he started, "Athos-"

Athos enveloped him into a hug. "The only peace I had was the thought she had been reunited with you. We will have to seek that peace together it seems. I am so sorry, d'Artagnan for your loss."

They stood in that fierce hug with tears flowing easily until finally breaking apart, clearing their throats of emotion.

Alexandre stepped forward. "Papa?"

"My God, you have grown into a man." D'Artagnan kissed his son then hugged him.

Alexandre, the spitting image of young d'Artagnan remained standing between this adopted and biological father as they took seats at the table with Porthos and Aramis joining them.

Aramis wiped his eyes. "Constance would be disappointed in this un-Musketeer like display of emotions."

"She would have slapped you," Porthos commented.

D'Artagnan nodded. "She was always blaming you."

"She requested him specifically to conduct her service," Athos added. "She wanted a Musketeer send off."

They all laughed a bit. Constance did think of herself as a Musketeer, and they teased her for it.

"Did she keep up her sword work?" D'Artagnan asked, then directed himself towards his son. "She liked to say she bested me, but I let her win."

Athos nodded. Aramis remembered the stories too, it was a reason he was slapped as he had defended d'Artagnan. "Did you ever marry?"

Aramis realized that perhaps he should have given Athos more information before d'Artagnan had entered.

However, d'Artagnan was willing to talk. "I had my work, then a piece of Alexandre. It had to be enough. I wish she had lived and you had more years together. The world is lessened without Constance in it."

"You are in Venice?" Athos picked up on the red and gold crest.

"Yes, I serve the duke there."

"Will you return to France?" Alexandre's voice had a longing in it of the loss of one parent.

"You have a barony, posthumously and kept for Alexandre until he reaches his maturity, but it is income producing. It is just outside of Paris," Athos explained. The King had wanted to reward his champion's service.

"Please, Papa, you could live in France, be a Musketeer once more."

"A Musketeer?"

"You're still young. The King has heard stories and has shown an interest in the resurgence of the Musketeers." King Louis had passed and the Queen was the regent, but that would soon be ending with Louis entering his majority. The Musketeers still served the crown, but with fewer adventures or so it seemed to Aramis. Athos had often described it as glorified guard duty.

Alexandre and his good friend, Louis had grown up with stories about the bravery of the inseparables. Alexandre saying that one day he would be Captain of the Musketeers. It warmed Aramis to see his son and d'Artagnan's son were loyal friends. "You do not have to make a decision tonight."

(())

D'Artagnan did return to France, and served with Athos until he retired to the manor house owned by d'Artagnan with his daughter and son. Athos visited court frequently as an adviser to the newly crowned King. D'Artagnan gained the respect of the men and King named him the next Captain, duly impressing his son who hoped to continue like his fathers.


	12. In Between

Title:In Between

Notes: Well, this has been done before in the movies (Groundhog Day) and most tv shows so I wanted to do something with the same idea and this is what came out- more angsty than I thought, but I hope it is liked.

Thank you for taking the time to read, comment, favorite and all. I hope to work on Paris, Texas next unless another idea comes my way.

* * *

Waking up to the sounds of the men already milling downstairs made d'Artagnan move from the bed. After morning absolutions, he put on his uniform and arranged his weapons as he went down the stairs.

Porthos and Aramis were already at the table, and d'Artagnan gestured to Athos as he came through the gate with his hair slightly damp in the front.

"You look terrible," Aramis stated, starting to stand.

D'Artagnan motioned for him to return to his seat. "Have assignments been called?" He was more worried that he had missed muster.

Porthos shook his head, then pointed up.

"D'Artagnan, my office," Treville called out.

Marching up the stairs, the Gascon stood at attention listening to his orders. The Captain passed him a letter. "Deliver this to Bishop Desmarais and wait for his answer. One of the others will come with you."

"Yes, Sir," D'Artagnan answered and slipped the missive inside his doublet. As he exited he announced, "Anyone willing to take a walk?" He was looking directly at his mentor.

Athos gave a nod. "Perhaps my influence will keep you out of trouble."

The other two snorted and went to train while Athos and d'Artagnan exited the garrison into the bustling Paris streets. The Bishop's residence was less than a 30 minute walk, one d'Artagnan did frequently enough as a newly commissioned Musketeer. The Bishop was a friend of Treville's and often informed him of the Cardinal's position on certain matters.

After all the Captain was just as cunning and lethal as his Eminence only with a better moral compass. They were about to turn the corner when it happened - a shot from the window and three men barring them from going any further. The shot had struck Athos's shoulder before d'Artagnan could raise his sword a fourth person came from the alley and stabbed Athos sending him stumbling to the ground while the bandits went running.

"Nooo!" D'Artagnan gathered Athos in his arms as the man blinked, gasping as blood spilled from his mouth instead of words. "Stay with me, stay with me…."

Waking up to the sounds of the men already milling downstairs made d'Artagnan move from the bed. After morning absolutions, he put on his uniform and arranged his weapons as he went down the stairs.

Porthos and Aramis were already at the table, and d'Artagnan gestured to Athos as he came through the gate with his hair slightly damp in the front.

"You look terrible," Aramis stated, starting to stand.

D'Artagnan motioned for him to return to his seat. "Have assignments been called?" He was more worried that he had missed muster.

Porthos shook his head, then pointed up.

"D'Artagnan, my office," Treville called out.

Marching up the stairs, the Gascon stood at attention listening to his orders. The Captain passed him a letter. "Deliver this to Bishop Desmarais and wait for his answer. One of the others will come with you."

"Yes, Sir," D'Artagnan answered and slipped the missive inside his doublet. As he exited he announced, "Anyone willing to take a walk?" He was looking directly at the sharpshooter. "When I left you were with Mademoiselle Cosette."

Aramis smiled. "She has many charms." The sharpshooter slipped his arm around d'Artagnan's shoulders as the left the garrison towards the Bishop's home.

They walked the well-known path, d'Artagnan had delivered messages while he was training when no one was available. It made the Gascon feel trusted by Treville, though he thought the Captain chose him since the Bishop was a fellow Gascon and always spent a few moments speaking in their dialect.

"You should have stayed a little longer. Perhaps next time you will entertain Cosette's friend," Aramis commented.

Since Constance he hadn't lived his life as a monk, but he a bit choosier. "Will you return to Cosette again?"

The sharpshooter shrugged his shoulders with a smile. He was not so giving of his heart as it had led to the Queen, a forbidden romance.

As they turned the corner a shot from the window and three men barred them from going any further. The shot struck Aramis's shoulder before d'Artagnan could raise his sword a fourth person came from the alley and stabbed Aramis sending him stumbling to the ground while the bandits went running.

"Nooo!" D'Artagnan gathered Aramis in his arms as the man blinked, gasping as blood spilled from his mouth instead of words. "Dear God, don't die."

Waking up to the sounds of the men already milling downstairs made d'Artagnan move from the bed. After morning absolutions, he put on his uniform and arranged his weapons as he went downstairs.

Porthos and Aramis were already at the table, and d'Artagnan gestured to Athos as he came through the gate with his hair slightly damp in the front.

"You look terrible," Aramis stated, starting to stand.

D'Artagnan motioned for him to return to his seat. "Have assignments been called?" He was more worried that he had missed muster.

Porthos shook his head, then pointed up.

"D'Artagnan, my office," Treville called out.

Marching up the stairs, the Gascon stood at attention listening to his orders. The Captain passed him a letter. "Deliver this to Bishop Desmarais and wait for his answer. One of the others will come with you."

"Yes, Sir," D'Artagnan answered and slipped the missive inside his doublet. As he exited he announced, "Anyone willing to take a walk?" He was grinned at Porthos. "What happened to all your winnings?" When last he left the tavern Porthos had a pile of money, yet his coin purse hung none the heavier.

"Investments, lad, investments." Porthos grabbed d'Artagnan's upper arm. "Are you well?"

D'Artagnan shook his head and the cobwebs that momentarily had settled there causing him to sway. "It was a strange feeling. I must be hungry. Perhaps you still have enough coin to buy some bread?"

They stopped at Porthos's favorite bakery on the rue they were traveling. The baker's wife gave them an extra baguette each, "you need to be as big as he is."

Porthos chuckled in agreement. "Even in my days in the court I wasn't as skinny as you."

"I'm not skinny," d'Artagnan grouched his usual response. "I'm lean. It makes me quick."

Porthos had just finished his bread when they turned the corner and a shot from the window stopped them in front of three men barring them from going any further. The shot had struck Porthos's shoulder before d'Artagnan could raise his sword a fourth person came from the alley and stabbed Porthos sending him stumbling to the ground while the bandits went running.

"Nooo!" D'Artagnan gathered Porthos in his arms as the man blinked, gasping as blood spilled from his mouth instead of words. "Don't close your eyes, you hear me…"

Waking up to the sounds of the men already milling downstairs made d'Artagnan lay in bed for a moment. Something was wrong. He didn't know what it was, but he figured he would have to leave the room to find out.

Porthos and Aramis were already at the table, and d'Artagnan gestured to Athos as he came through the gate with his hair slightly damp in the front.

"You look terrible," Aramis stated, starting to stand.

D'Artagnan motioned for him to return to his seat, then looked up to see Treville on the balcony. He was already making his way up the stairs. "You wanted me, Sir?"

Treville shook his head. "I did. Come inside."

The Gascon stood at attention listening to his orders. The Captain passed him a letter. "Deliver this to Bishop Desmarais and wait for his answer. One of the others will come with you."

"I would like to deliver the letter alone if that is all right with you?" There was something wrong today and he did not want the others caught up in it.

The Captain agreed and waved him out.

"I'm taking a walk," he announced to his three brothers.

Athos stepped forward into his space. "Alone?"

"I will return," d'Artagnan assured him and hurried out of the garrison, deciding to take a lengthier, ragtag route to the Bishop's residence. Yet, ahead Athos was waiting for him.

"What are you doing here?"D'Artagnan asked, stopping Athos from taking the corner. "We can't go there."

Athos frowned, "Nonsense," and stepped forward only for a shot to be fired. D'Artagnan flinched and entered the fray.

d'Artagnan was disturbed the next morning as he exited his room. He saw his friends.

"I know I look terrible, but I'm fine," he told Aramis who seemed perplexed.

Then he started up the stairs and knocked on the Captain's door. "You have a letter that you need delivered to the Bishop?"

Treville seemed taken aback. "How did you know?"

"It's Tuesday, is it not, Sir?" D'Artagnan asked, knowing it was an insufficient answer, but the Captain accepted it.

He tried to go alone and he tried it again the next morning too, but they ended the same with one of his friends joining him then laying in his arms mortally wounded.

When he awoke next he remained in bed. He did feel terrible and maybe ignoring the world outside would make it seem normal again. No one visited him. He felt alone and trapped. He must have fallen asleep as the next day he tried once more to greet a new day.

It was the same day. D'Artagnan attempted to convince Athos, Aramis, Porthos and Treville that he knew what would happen. They teased him, worried over him, but did not _believe_ him. The Gascon thought he was going mad, begging Treville to burn the missive instead of letting anyone deliver it. That only resulted in him being sent to his room to rest until he fell asleep without seeing any of his friends and it was the same morning again.

The young Musketeer vowed to make his friends' never-ending last days their best as he started off another day, hoping for something different, not being surprised it was the same.

Porthos and Aramis were already at the table, and d'Artagnan gestured to Athos as he came through the gate with his hair slightly damp in the front.

"You look terrible," Aramis stated, starting to stand.

D'Artagnan nodded his agreement, slipping in beside Aramis.

"D'Artagnan, my office," Treville called out.

Marching up the stairs, the Gascon stood at attention listening to his orders. The Captain passed him a letter. "Deliver this to Bishop Desmarais and wait for his answer. One of the others will come with you."

"Yes, Sir," D'Artagnan answered and slipped the missive inside his doublet. As he exited he announced, "Athos, walk with me?" The letter felt terribly heavy, but they shuffled out of the garrison. The Gascon got straight to the heart of the matter, "If you were to die today-"

"I would need a drink first," Athos interrupted with a cock of his eyebrow.

"Let's stop." They found themselves in front of the Wren. "We have time and I have coin to spare on some wine."

The Gascon was surprised when Athos agreed as the custom was not to partake when on duty. It was a well spent hour, which was over too soon as d'Artagnan parted with his coin.

"Thank you." Athos tipped his hat and gave a small grin.

The pleasantness between them lasted up until the musket fire.

D'Artagnan chose Aramis next, still trapped in the hellish repeating day. "Who would be the last person you would want to see before you die?"

Aramis pulled up short. "What a morbid conversation, my friend."

It was the Gascon's mistake. He knew who the sharpshooter wanted to see, it was evident every time they were in her presence. The next morning with d'Artagnan thinking more clearly he picked Aramis again. It was cruel.

Stopping at the palace, they entered the gardens to find the Queen and her ladies guarded by other Musketeers.

"I just needed to ask Philippe a question," d'Artagnan excused himself for a few minutes.

When he returned they continued on to the Bishop's home, which they would never reach.

"She looks radiant." Aramis sighed.

D'Artagnan smiled in response feeling as if it was the first time in a while before the bandits found them once more.

"Tell me is there something you wish for?" He asked Porthos as they walked past the bakery this time.

The large man was giving it consideration. He pressed his lips together. "I wish I knew my father. I have memories of my mother, but none of my father, not even a name."

Porthos's request was difficult. He did not know much about how to find someone's missing father.

"I sometimes think my father calls for me," d'Artagnan confessed. It was always there, but he was unable to answer. Some days he wanted to answer and move on.

"He wants you to live." Porthos gripped his arm, shook it until d'Artagnan gave him a nod.

"Treville is like a father," d'Artagnan added. He watched how the Captain was with the other three. "Though I think he sees me as the annoying nephew he has to put up with when the relatives visit."

It was laughter that had them heading into the corner.

D'Artagnan was tired, dragging himself down the stairs as he had made his decision. "Can you all spare a moment to go to Bishop Desmarais?"

"All of us to deliver a letter?" Athos crossed his arms.

The young Musketeer was willing to beg. "I'm sure Treville won't mind. Think of it as patrolling."

It was enough that they agreed. He absorbed their silence along with conversation until he suddenly sprinted ahead into the danger, taking the shot that was meant for the other Musketeer's shoulder, which forced him to spin around to be stabbed by the fourth bandit. He saw the others running towards him, cursing with swords lifted and muskets firing as his fingers came in contact with the blood seeping from his body. It was time for him to finally rest in peace without another tomorrow.

There was no rest as a combination of cold and fire seized his body in agony forcing him to get away while his breath was stolen.

"Dear God, hold him! Hold him! He's having a fit!"

Straining to get out of his skin he bucked, but then collapsed with a sharp gasp into overpowering lethargy that made him so heavy and unable to move.

There was murmuring beyond his understanding. He wanted to comprehend, knowing he had to just open his eyes, but fearful it would be the same day.

Swirling into vision there were others in his room. He blinked, the only part of his body he felt sure about were his eyes, though they were at half-mast. A cloth was slipped over his forehead down his neck in a rhythm that was soothing and repetitious. "Awake?" He whispered on the air.

The cloth stopped and Athos came into view, his beard unkempt, hair greasy, and face haggard. "D'Artagnan?"

This was different. "Morning?" He tried again.

"No, it's night." Aramis bent down. The sharpshooter was crying.

"Alive?"

"Yes, you are. We are." Porthos hugged Athos, pulled him toward him.

D'Artagnan closed his eyes. "Stay? All stay?"

"We will." Athos put a hand on his head, brushed back his hair.

They told him what had happened because he did not remember, the fever burning through those memories. The seizures he had taking the rest. Riding ahead to so some scouting there was an ambush. D'Artagnan was able to warn the others, but got injured in the meantime- a bullet to the shoulder and stab wound.

The decision was made to return to Paris for medical care after doing what they could on the road, but it was not an easy journey and the younger man weakened quickly until he was nonsensical. It was the seizures that had concerned them the most, fearful he was passing, but he remained with them.

He was discovering his strength was slow in returning. For the first few days after he awoke properly he was bedridden. The physician admonished him that he needed to rest if he were to heal. D'Artagnan made no effort to move, accepting his brother's care of him.

Aramis and Athos helped him to sit at the table.

"It was the blood loss, the fever," Aramis explained again as a wave of exhaustion had the younger man slumping after the short trip.

D'Artagnan could not decide if he should place a hand on his pulsing shoulder on his painful side. It felt like he was holding himself together.

"You're doing better." Athos took the other seat. The room was crowded with additional furniture, but it was temporary while d'Artagnan recovered.

Porthos pulled out some baked goods from a sack, placing a baguette, tart and biscuit in front of the Gascon. "You need to eat. Give him butter and honey."

He picked at the tart. His appetite was slow in returning, though Porthos tried with different treats. "Did I say anything?" There was a nagging sensation with him that something _more_ had happened.

"About what?" Aramis frowned.

D'Artagnan nodded at Porthos for pouring him the glass of milk. He detested it, but the physician had recommended it. "I kept having this dream, nightmare, I think, but I can't remember it."

"Better to not remember." Athos leveled his friend with a glare.

The Gascon nodded. "Suppose so." His only job was to get better, return to his Musketeer duties.

Aramis seemed to take pity on him. "You called for your father, for us. We were with you."

Slowly he started to think more clearly and the soreness was a mild hindrance so he made his way down the stairs to the courtyard of the garrison without assistance to sit with his friends. He was finally allowed on light duty, looking forward in the coming days to resume training.

Treville joined them with an envelope in his hand. "I require someone to take the letter to the Bishop…"

The end.


	13. Age Certain

Title: Age Certain

By: Tidia

Beta: AZ Girl

Disclaimer: BBC owns Musketeers, not me.

Notes: Hello! This is just some little prompt I read and thought I would have fun with. Constance is more sister like, and well you will see why...

* * *

"What are you doing?" Porthos asked as he sat at the table watching d'Artagnan with his shirt in his hand, tongue stuck out and sewing needle at the ready.

The material curled up and the younger man let out a sigh of frustration as he gained an audience with Athos and Aramis joining Porthos at the table. "Letting out the cuffs of my shirt."

"What? Have you grown?" Aramis chuckled, standing over d'Artagnan's shoulder.

D'Artagnan maneuvered the cuff and made a stitch. "Maybe? My boots are tight, but they will have to wait."

Porthos cocked an eyebrow. "How is that possible? You're a grown lad of twenty-two."

The younger man did not look up from his sewing. "I'm not twenty-two."

It was as if it was a challenge. Aramis rubbed his chin. "Twenty-three?"

D'Artagnan shook his head.

Porthos picked up the challenge. He was a gambling man. "Twenty-one."

This time the new Musketeer stopped sewing and looked up.

Athos was next, curiosity brewing. "Nineteen."

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I'm sixteen. I'll be seventeen in three months." He beamed with pride at having an upcoming birthday.

Aramis sputtered, "Sixteen. Very funny joke."

Athos narrowed his eyes. "When were you born?"

Porthos listened to d'Artagnan's answer. "That would make you…" He paused as he calculated age. "Sixteen."

D'Artagnan nodded. "Yes. I guess I still have some growing to do." He returned to sewing, having not gotten very far.

Over the teen's head Athos looked at Aramis and Porthos. "Does Tréville know?"

"I think so. Why?"

Porthos whistled. "That's young for the Musketeers."

This brought d'Artagnan's attention once more. "So? I earned it. I beat Labarge." He pushed the shirt aside and went to stand up.

Porthos placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Calm down. No one is going to take your pauldron from you."

"We assumed you were older." Aramis's explanation was an understatement.

Athos rubbed his chin. "Did you mention needing boots?"

D'Artagnan shook out his shirt. "I can't afford them just yet."

Aramis lifted d'Artagnan's arm up to force him to stand. "Let's speak to Monsieur Roquelle. He likes Musketeers."

Porthos leveled a look at Athos. "I'm coming. Can't trust Aramis to pick out sturdy boots."

Athos nodded. "I'll be along." He watched them leave the garrison, and then went up the stairs to talk to the Captain. Knocking once, he was given permission to enter. "Did you know d'Artagnan was only sixteen?"

Treville was writing. "Only sixteen when what?"

Athos groaned internally at the miscommunication and proof that the Captain had no idea. "Now. He is only sixteen years of age now."

The Captain dropped his pen, swore under his breath when the ink blot grew. He moved it out of the way. "He's a child. That's impossible."

"Must be the youngest Musketeer ever." Athos relaxed his stance as the Captain moved to pour a drink.

"Athos, I can't have a boy as a Musketeer." Treville leaned against the front of his desk.

This was d'Artagnan's fear, and Athos would not allow it to be realized. "He's not a boy. He's proved himself. He's commissioned."

Treville sipped his drink. "We'll keep this between ourselves."

Athos finished his own drink. "What about the King?"

The captain collected his glass. "We say nothing. The King will not notice."

(())

The King may have not noticed that d'Artagnan was younger than he seemed, but the teen definitely noticed he was being treated differently. On a mission outside of Paris, they were unable to find a place to stay before it turned too dark to continue travelling. As usual, he was sent to collect firewood and fill the water skins, but where he used to go alone, he now had company.

Porthos was sticking close, checking the area, and then pushing d'Artagnan aside when he hears an animal in the woods nearby. D'Artagnan huffed as he tucked the branches under one arm while he slung two of the water skins over his shoulder.

When they returned to the campsite, d'Artagnan deposited the branches by the small fire and set the water skins to the side. "Something is going on, and I'd like to know what it is."

Athos paused from setting out his roll. "As the newest Musketeer-"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "It's not that. I don't mind getting the firewood, water and taking care of the horses-"

"Good to know," Aramis added.

"But, now I'm being followed and you're watching me_ all _the time." D'Artagnan crossed his arms showing he was stubborn and waiting for an answer.

Porthos cleared his throat. "We want to make sure you're doing things right. Don't want you to form bad habits."

"That's not it." D'Artagnan kicked at the dirt with his new boots. Their reaction to his age had been surprise. They had not known his true age and guessed older. The boots were made of supple leather with a reinforced sole. Monsieur Roquelle had given him a very low price, which made the teen suspicious that his Musketeer brothers were involved. Soon after Constance had sent him a shirt that a customer had never picked up. They were watching over him, making sure his needs were met, like his father had done. "You thought I was older."

"You are the youngest Musketeer," Athos replied without confirming what d'Artagnan believed was the problem.

"And you do not believe that I should be a Musketeer. You think I'm too young." D'Artagnan tried to control his voice so the despair did not leak through.

Athos moved next to the young man to grip his shoulder. "You're a Musketeer. No one can take that away from you."

"Except for the King," Aramis interjected, then silenced once more when d'Artagnan glared at him.

"We are concerned," Athos started.

"And overprotective." Porthos shrugged because he was not going to apologize to the treatment.

"You think I'm a child. " For d'Artagnan it was very simple. "Just treat me like I'm twenty."

Aramis took his hat off and tapped the chapeau on his leg. "Easier said than done."

"I don't know what you want me to do? I will be seventeen soon."

Athos put his hands up, then gestured for them to sit, warm themselves by the fire and eat. Once settled Athos continued. "You may not want to hear this, but knowing your true age makes us feel responsible for you."

Porthos chewed the salted pork. "Like a little brother."

"I'm not little." D'Artagnan was offended. He was taller than both Athos and Aramis. Perhaps he would even be taller than Porthos eventually, but probably never as muscular.

"You're a work in progress." Aramis's grin was caught in the firelight. "You had to have known?"

D'Artagnan was never asked his age outright. Didn't see it as a hindrance or an issue. "Not really. I grew up on a farm. You have to work from when you're young."

For a moment there was just the sound of the fire crackling and the small animals skirting around in the distance away from the flames.

"We will try to treat you as you should as a Musketeer," Athos finally said.

Aramis clucked his tongue so they would pay attention to him. "However, if we are a bit zealous in your safety, then you will have to understand."

D'Artagnan nodded. It was a compromise that he could grow out of eventually. He hoped. "As long as I get to stay a Musketeer."

(())

"He's asleep," Aramis announced. Although he was on first watch, he knew the others were also still awake except for d'Artagnan who was breathing evenly. "The young always sleep deeply."

Porthos snickered. "He's tall for his age."

Aramis knew from growing up with ample food that it made people healthier. "Farming living agreed with him. Built him to be a strapping lad."

"Sixteen. It's not young," Porthos added. He'd been on his own in the world for such a long time.

Athos shifted from resting against his saddle. "He's not a grown man."

"He's not a babe either," Aramis reminded his friend.

"Explains why he can't grow a beard," Porthos said with an elbow to Aramis.

Athos sighed. "He's going to give us grey hairs."

Aramis knew it was difficult for the older man as he had the experience of having a younger brother. "Speak for yourself. He'll keep us young."

"We do not need you to regress any further," Athos retorted. "Wake d'Artagnan for the next watch."

"Maybe we should allow him to get-"

Athos interrupted Porthos. "He's our little brother, but he is also a Musketeer."

Aramis nodded and decided to clean his weapons while he was on watch, though he might let d'Artagnan sleep a little more.

The end


	14. Never Spoken Truths

Never Spoken Truths

By Tidia

Beta: AZGirl ( a big thank you!)

Notes: Had an idea about a reaction from Athos after finding out about d'Artagnan's dalliance with Milady so this is where it took me. Thank you so much for reviews, reading and choosing this story as a favorite. I am always grateful that people take the time to enjoy.

* * *

Porthos had cornered Athos as the older man threatened once more tried to get passed the larger man.

"Perhaps it is best you leave to let him cool down, then we will see you in the morning." Aramis quickly shuffled d'Artagnan to the door of Athos's apartment. "Yes?"

The sharpshooter waited for d'Artagnan to nod. "Alright. Aramis, I didn't know-" the younger man tried to explain his dealings with Athos's presumed dead wife again.

"I know," Aramis stated, shutting the door once d'Artagnan stepped out.

A restless night followed, and as he was up early the next morning he thought it best to talk to Treville. The truth would come out about Milady including the fact that she was working with the Cardinal, and was involved with an attempt on the Queen's life.

With heavy steps d'Artagnan found himself standing in front of the captain's door. He took a deep breath after knocking. "Sir, may I speak to you for a moment?"

"What is it?" The captain's gruffness did not dissuade him.

"I may have wronged Athos, and if he feels that way, then it would be difficult to serve with him."

Treville put away his paperwork and gave d'Artagnan his undivided attention. "How have you wronged him?"

"His wife is alive, aligned with the Cardinal, and I accepted assistance from her in the past."

The Captain blinked as if trying to absorb all of what d'Artagnan had told him. "You've been in Paris less than a year."

"Yes, Captain."

"Some time apart may be a fix until you can work out your differences. You can take palace duty with Edwin."

"Thank you, Captain." D'Artagnan did not know if a separation would be enough. Quickly he wrote a note, sealing it and left it with Jacques, the stable hand, to give to Athos when he arrived.

(())

"The Captain told me to work out whatever was going on with d'Artagnan." As he came down the stairs to join his friends, Athos shook his head even though the movement caused it to ache even more. Aramis kindly held out a glass of water, which Athos drank in the hopes the wine would leave his body quickly.

Before he could speak any further with Porthos and Aramis, they were interrupted by Jacques. "Sir, this was left for you."

Athos closed his eyes after reading the missive left by d'Artagnan. He passed the note to Aramis.

"He is a bit dramatic." The sharpshooter passed the note, but added another comment, "But, even I thought that you were going strike him."

Porthos also defended the boy. "Wasn't until you finished that bottle that you stopped talking under your breath about ending him."

"I have regained my composure." Athos did not approve of his reaction. It showed the hold Anne still had on him that for an evening he believed d'Artagnan had wronged him.

Porthos bumped his shoulder to break the reverie. "What would you like to do?"

"Wait until he returns, tell him he is full of nonsense, then form a plan with Treville on stopping her and the Cardinal."

(())

The day was ending, but d'Artagnan had made good time to return to the garrison. As he entered, he saw Athos and the others waiting for him. The Gascon owed Athos the right of the duel. He squared his shoulders to attend to the matter with honor. "I want to apologize again."

Athos had his arms crossed. "No apology needed. You didn't know she was my wife. You didn't know me. It may have been unwise to sleep with a woman in the company of another man." Athos bowed his head.

"And then not mention that she had helped you," Aramis added.

Porthos gave d'Artagnan a strong pat on his shoulder that had him stumbling a step forward. "But being an idiot is something that we can fix."

D'Artagnan was overwhelmed at the thought of forgiveness. "Would you like to duel?"

The edge of Athos's mouth turned up a bit. "I am tired and would rather save it for training." Athos reached out to place a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder. "We will never talk about this again."

Instead, they formed a plan that would be set in motion as soon as they could ascertain Milady's whereabouts. D'Artagnan wasn't sure he liked a plan where he got shot. He understood the reason, trusted Athos to wing his arm, and had to be satisfied it would lead to success.

Aramis assured him there would be very limited damage and a small scar for his trouble.

When the ruse happened, being shot in the side was a surprise. D'Artagnan saw Athos reposition the gun to lower it. In a second he was wounded, feeling as though he was dying. He heard his friends, but only felt pain that spread throughout his body to his soul. _Athos had tried to kill him._

When he awoke in Milady's clutches, the wound was still sore, but he stuck to the plan to meet his friends at the garrison.

"You were supposed to hit my shoulder." D'Artagnan winced as his voice trembled. The Gascon felt a spark of fear as he waited for the answer.

"A shot to the side is more authentic, and I did have three bottles of wine."

D'Artagnan placed his hand over the throbbing injury. He had no immediate reply to Athos. D'Artagnan gulped the doubt. "She wants me to kill you."

(())

With Anne gone from his life and the locket no longer a needed reminder, Athos had to rid himself of another anchor to the past.

The drinking had led to an almost irreparable event, almost swaying him to give into a crime of passion and revenge. Athos had risked d'Artagnan's life. Not in the way that was expected when one was a soldier, but something personal.

Taking the leave Treville had offered, he went into his room to detoxify. He thought he wanted to be alone so he could vomit, shake and come apart in private. It started that way the first day, but the second day he was so lost he did not hear Porthos and Aramis enter.

"I knew where I was aiming," he admitted as he purged his soul.

Aramis tutted as Porthos pried him off the floor.

They stayed with him, cleaned him up to set him back on a clearer path so that in the end he was ready to report to the garrison as the lieutenant the Musketeers always deserved.

Aramis had left them a little earlier to find d'Artagnan. Athos needed to talk to him. Porthos and Athos took their time walking to the garrison. It was a familiar walk, but Athos felt lighter.

The sharpshooter was waiting for them without their younger brother.

"Where is d'Artagnan?"

"The lad still with Constance?" Porthos asked Aramis.

"Constance is pursuing her marriage with her husband. The man tried to kill himself."

Athos scratched the side of his beard. D'Artagnan had lost Constance, and they had not been there to provide some solace. "What has he done?"

"He asked Treville for a fortnight so he could return to Lupiac. The Cardinal finally provided the reimbursement he was due months ago"

"We should follow." Athos thought about how hard they could ride to make up the time.

Porthos shook his head. "We would just meet him on the road. We'll have to wait the week."

"You worry." Aramis gripped the cross on his neck. "He'll forgive you."

Athos gave a short nod. The siren of wine was calling to him. He ignored the whispers that permeated his mind. Aramis had warned him the craving would always be there to drink to excess. He had survived much, he could survive this and make amends.

(())

After being dismissed by Constance, d'Artagnan wandered to the garrison with the expectation of finding his friends waiting for him. "They're not here."

He climbed the stairs, more tired than he thought possible and went to his bed, blocking out his wounded heart and side.

It was morning, he had overslept his usual waking time though he could hear the bustle below from the garrison yard. With a groan, he sat up to gingerly shift his feet over the side of the bed, not ready to face his friends.

He stayed in his room, straightening it up, waiting for them, but they never came. The wound needed a new bandage and he tended to it. It seemed to be healing well, but would take some time. Because the bullet had cracked a rib, the bruising was still spectacular.

The Captain had advised time apart before, which had helped. Bonacieux was willing to attempt suicide to get Constance. What did Athos want to do? Kill the man who slept with his wife? D'Artagnan was grateful that Treville had allowed him time to go to Gascony.

Weary from the hard ride and the general busyness - two weeks was too short of time to get his affairs in order. He had salvaged a few precious objects that were not caught in the fire— a knife that belonged to his father with the handle slightly scorched, but still usable; knitting needles that belonged to his mother, even though everything she had knitted was now gone; and a horseshoe to keep as a memory of better days. D'Artagnan made plans for a house to be built with the money from the Cardinal had finally deemed to give for reparations. It would be a modest shelter, but something there nonetheless. Tenants were willing to farm, especially with the low rent he offered that would allow them to live and pay the taxes.

In times of loneliness his father would remind him that he had the land. D'Artagnan wanted to honor his family even though his life was now about being a Musketeer. He would still have the land with the idea that it would manage itself to some extent.

Pressing, he returned to the garrison at night, not expecting any greeting. Saddlebags in hand, he made his way to the Captain's office to inform him of his arrival. There was still a glow in the window, which told him that Treville was available.

The Captain earned himself a bottle of Gascony's best for allowing d'Artagnan to take a leave. To his surprise Athos was seated across from Treville.

"You've returned," Athos said.

"Just," d'Artagnan replied. "Sir, for you."

Treville smiled as he cradled the bottle realizing from the label what it was. "Your farm is settled?"

"Yes, there is a manager I trust and tenants who are willing." They continued with pleasantries for the next few minutes until d'Artagnan excused himself. He was tired. The ride had been stressful for him to return in the allotted time.

Athos followed him out. "I know you wish to rest, but may we speak for a moment?"

D'Artagnan motioned to his room. "I should have told you about my plans to go to Lupiac." It was petty of him, but he was upset when his friends had essentially disappeared after the battle they had just been through to save Constance.

"You sought us out after returning to the garrison," Athos confirmed. "Aramis and Porthos were helping me."

The young Musketeer took a better look at his friend after they made it into his room and lit some candles. "Are you ill?" he asked, though the man's appearance was the contrary.

Athos shook his head. "I am better. Though I wronged you."

"Wronged me?" d'Artagnan placed his saddle bags on the one of the chairs, then went to sit on his bed while Athos took the remaining chair.

"You were supposed to be shot in the arm. The drinking and Anne affected my aim." Athos gestured to d'Artagnan's healed side.

The young man placed a hand over his former wound. It was shocking to hear a verification and apology from his mentor. "How?"

Athos's posture slumped. "I drank the wine so that I could force myself to shoot."

D'Artagnan nodded. He could understand how difficult it would be to shoot a friend. "You were upset that I had relations with your wife."

The older man bowed his head. "It's been years. There were men before me, and I am sure after me. You were—"

"But I'm the first one you've known that you could take some sort of revenge on." D'Artagnan was able to summarize the situation as he interrupted his mentor. He counted himself lucky that Bonacieux was not a type to challenge to a duel since he would have been within his rights.

Athos lifted his head. "I have curtailed my consumption of wine to make amends."

"I hope for yourself." It was an evening full of surprises. His mentor functioned with wine in his blood. D'Artagnan looked forward to this new Athos, showing his unsurpassed strength. "I was confused when it happened and questioned our friendship. In the end, I decided it was but one moment among the entirety of what you all have taught me, shared, and accepted, can easily be ignored especially since I am still alive and France was saved."

The older man gave him a small grin. "We shall never speak of this again?" Athos reiterated his earlier words.

"Not from me. I will see you in the morning?" D'Artagnan wanted to confirm the return to their usual behaviors.

Athos stood up, tucked the chair into the table. "At breakfast then. I am sure Porthos and Aramis will also want to hear about your journey. Goodnight."

Pulling off his boots and doublet, d'Artagnan laid back in bed looking forward to continuing the journey with his Musketeer brothers by his side for a long time to come.


End file.
